Castaways
by corvusdraconis
Summary: [Hermione/Loki] After the war, Hermione picks up her old time-turner from Dumbledore's office. There's a note attached, with a last request from the late headmaster. However, the interference of another party causes things to go pear-shaped. M for delicate sensibilities.
1. Mission Failure

**Summary:** [Hermione/Loki] After the war, Hermione picks up her old time-turner from Dumbledore's office. There's a note attached, with a last request from the late headmaster. However, the interference of another party causes things to go pear-shaped.

 **Disclaimer:** Not making money on this, and the characters you recognise aren't mine, unless they actually were. **  
**

 **A/N:** Uhhh… rated M for delicate sensibilities.

 **Beta Love:** The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, Flyby Commander Shepard

* * *

 **Castaways**

 _In every conceivable manner, the family is link to our past, bridge to our future. — Alex Haley_

* * *

 _My Dear Miss Granger,_

 _I know by the time you read this that the war may be well and truly over, and I sincerely hope that is so. Much grief and horror has come from a mistake I made several decades ago— believing I could save a young boy with magical talent and the promise of greatness._

 _That boy was Tom Riddle, who eventually became Lord Voldemort by his own coining._

 _Had I known then what I know now, perhaps I would not have brought him to Hogwarts. I do not know. At the time, I believed I could save him. A part of me, even as I write this, still believes that perhaps I could have._

 _This time-turner is the very same one you used for your third year classes as well as to save Sirius Black and Buckbeak, though that now seems like ages ago. There is one large difference in this device, however— I have altered it so the time sands are stabilised by none other than my familiar, Fawkes' tears. Fawkes and those of his kind have always had a touch of time stability about them. It is why phoenixes can be reborn as many times as they do and yet remain stable, remembering everything they ever have seen or experienced. This time-turner, however, is attuned specifically to_ _ **you**_ _. You were the one to use it for over an entire year, and to you it must return. I ask of you, however, before you consider burying it away in some dark chest and forgetting about it, I beseech you to do this old man one last favour._

 _Please save Severus Snape._

 _It was by my command alone that Severus killed me, and via his oath to serve me in exchange for saving Lily Potter's life that he continued to serve, even after Lily and James sadly lost their lives— not by my hand or the lack of my aid, but because in their mistrust of the wrong people, they bound their secret to none other than Peter Pettigrew._

 _And I believe you well know what came of that, Miss Granger._

 _I knew that Severus had taken you under wing your second year, and while I did not approve of it openly, I took care to ensure that the Board of Governors never found out, as there were many upon that board that would have wished ill upon the both of you, had they ever learned of your secret tutelage. I did, however, pressure the Mastery Board to arrange for you to be tested early— before your seventh year, because I had a feeling that you and Mr Potter would not be attending Hogwarts by that time. I wanted to be sure you had the credentials you had worked so very hard for— and I know, despite Severus' grumbling, that he would have certainly done the same._

 _Your then-upcoming quest with Mr Potter, and I supposed Mr Weasley as well, was bound to be exceedingly difficult in a great many ways, which is why I had Minerva approach you with an offer to study with her to become an Animagus. Under her, you would be registered, legal, and learn the skill as part of an accelerated study program— something that I am certain you will have had no problem with. You truly are the brightest witch of your age, Ms Granger._

 _I hope whatever form you took has served you well._

 _I ask you to please, turn back in time and rescue your old master from whatever death he probably resigned himself to. The man has done so much for everyone, and never once did he want anyone to know. The fact he found it within himself to trust you with such information was no small thing. I know he cared deeply for you. You were the closest thing to family the man had._

 _I have a safe house located off the coast of Norway, which has been painstakingly warded and is keyed to your magic alone. Once you are there, you can alter it to permit whomever you wish to enter, but it will make quite an ideal place to hide Severus away, permitting him to live out the remainder of his life in peace. He deserves so much more than that, but a peaceful life in a very remote location— I believe he will greatly appreciate such an opportunity._

 _I have arranged for my personal funds and assets to be immediately transferred to your own account at Gringotts upon the moment of my death, Miss Granger. It will have been done quite discreetly, and there will be no official record of it. It was by goblin contract— and we all know they always have the last word at Gringotts. They also know that something terrible is coming if Tom Riddle is not stopped quickly, and should you have run afoul of them, perhaps inadvertently causing trouble in your quest, I have also pre-arranged for any restitution they might require be taken from my own coffers instead of yours. Regardless, unless you managed to level the entirety of Gringotts, there will be more than enough to ensure that you can arrange for food and supplies to be sent to Severus as needed for the rest of his life and yours as well, as I do not intend to forget your hand in this great machine either._

 _The true hands behinds the ending of wars, Ms Granger, are rarely ever the ones who are celebrated for it, but those in the know will be aware of your part in this. You will find a chest in your vault with documents and vials of memories that will clear Severus of any possible charge in regard to my death and whatever deaths he has most likely been framed for. I trust you will have no problem with bringing this information to the proper people when the time comes._

 _For what it is worth, my dear, I am truly sorry for all that you have gone through. While I do now know most of what you will face during the next few years, I know those things will be more than dire. Tom will not stop until true death claims him at last. My biggest regret is my own hand in bringing him to this place, where he learned how to hone his gift for magic into something as terrible, broken and hungry as he himself was._

 _Your Obedient Servant,_

 _Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

 _(his seal, the phoenix and crest of the Headmaster of Hogwarts)_

* * *

"I've brought you someone," Håkon grunted as he pushed his way into the cave, nudging aside the thick sealskin hides that blocked the bitter winds from the door so he could get in. "Idiot stayed on the ice too long hoping for that last seal. He's lucky the Great Frost Mother didn't send a sea-wolf whale to devour him instead of a break in the ice.

"Aw, Håkon, you shouldn't have," Hermione laughed, throwing up her hands. "How did you know I wanted a prize idiot with a side of blatantly oblivious?"

The Jötunn hunter snorted, throwing the body of the other Jötunn down on the furs. "Not that I give a shite if the dolt wanted to commit suicide by sheer stupidity, but I _did_ swear to his mother I'd keep him from death on the floes for a year like his father would have done, had he survived the war. I grew up with his mother before you came to us. She's a good woman, Hilde, and she doesn't deserve what life gave her."

"Sometimes we do the very best we can, Håkon, and life _still_ chooses to throws us into the middle of frozen wasteland," Hermione said with a sad sort of smile.

"I'd make you my mate in an instant, Hermione, if I ever thought you'd accept me," Håkon said with a rueful shake of his head. At least then you'd be the proper size."

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him. "My size is just fine, thank you very much," she said with a pseudo-haughty sniff. Her face turned serious. "Besides, Håkon, you know as well as I that your heart has been set on Gunnvor for as long as the glaciers have been high. You're just waiting for her to remember that respectable males _do,_ in fact _,_ exist."

Håkon sighed. "It's been a _very_ long wait already."

"That normal for the average Jötunn?" Hermione asked.

Håkon laughed. "No. Some females are just… fickle. They take longer to figure out what it is that they want. We males tend to feel what we want in our very bones. Almost instantly."

"You've been waiting for nigh over a hundred years," Hermione said with a soft whistle. "Isn't that long enough even for a fickle female?"

Håkon roared with laughter. "For a race that counts their lives, not in years as you do but in how many children are grown, who is to say for certain?"

Hermione looked thoughtful, her brown eyes took on a shimmering golden hint, as though sand were rushing across her irises. "You've been waiting longer than what I'd call a hundred years, Håkon."

The Jötunn hunter sighed wearily. "Can't fool you, can I, Hermione?"

Hermione grasped his pinky as one would touch a hand, and Håkon smiled at her, patting her gently.

"You've been out here longer than most Jötunn ever stay in one place, Hermione," he said quietly as he watched her tend the young, injured hunter. "Why have you not moved your camp?"

"This is Sigrunn's old cave—" Hermione said with a face tinged with emotion. "I find I cannot bear to leave it after she—"

Håkon pulled Hermione to him awkwardly due to the size difference, he pressed her into his fur belt and rubbed her back with his thumb. "She was a great healer, Hermione. She taught you well. It was not your fault that horrid Asgardian found her out on the ice. It _wasn't_."

"Her death started the war. If I had just—"

"Then you would be dead too, Hermione," Håkon said grimly. "King Bör was not known for his mercy, only his temper and his drive to conquer."

"I've lost track of how many years have passed, Håkon. I know only how many friends have died since I landed here."

"Landed in my arms like a prize frost-seal bursting through the ice!" Håkon laughed. "I was but a child then. Scared and entirely unsure of what to do."

"You screamed well enough," Hermione mused.

"Hush, you," Håkon laughed. "You came speaking some strange language, gesturing with your tiny stick, and then you just burst into tears. It was no wonder Sigrunn loved you so. She was always adopting strays— but _you_ , you she loved like a daughter."

Hermione smiled. "I miss her so."

"I do too, Hermione," Håkon agreed. "At least it only took you a year as we count them to learn our language well enough that you didn't sound like some sodding Asgardian."

"Håkon, that is hardly fair!" Hermione protested. "Now I speak Asgardian like a Jötunn!"

"That only took you _three_ years."

"Because no one here wanted to speak it!"

"Psh, who needs to know the language of the false gods when you can speak the language of the frozen wastes where everything is real?"

Hermione beat her head against the Jötunn's belt.

"Come now, Hermione," Håkon laughed. "Stop beating yourself upon me. I do not want Sigrunn's spirit to come back to haunt me from her grave."

Hermione mumbled things but stopped trying to give herself a concussion.

Håkon placed a finger on your shoulder, brushing against her cheek with tenderness. "I _do_ wish you would find a mate, Hermione. It is far too long, even for one who measures time as we do, to sit alone upon the wastes, even if you do have that brute to help you keep warm at night."

The Jötunheimr beast lifted his head from the rear of the cave and whuff-snorted, as if he knew he was being spoken of.

"I am hardly going to shrivel up and die just because I get a little lonely now and then, Håkon," Hermione told him. "Besides, you know as well as I that every male in in this frozen wasteland has a heart that has been claimed by another, and it has been so for thousands of years, or so it feels. Sometimes I wish I had a timepiece here. Even my time spell goes by Jötunheimr years, and we both know Jötunheimr years are almost forever and a day in comparison.

Håkon laughed. "You sound like our king, Hermione."

"My ears are burning, Håkon, and somehow I _knew_ it would be you at the heart of it," a low voice rumbled as another Jötunn moved into the cave.

"My king," Håkon said with a bow of deep respect.

King Laufey shook his head as he saw the injured hunter on the furs.

"I swear that Snorre will find his death in the most humiliating way possible the very moment you are no longer looking out for him, Håkon," Laufey sighed with weariness. "Healer Hermione," he greeted her with a bow.

"King Laufey," Hermione said with a bow of her head.

"You are skin and bone, little Healer," Laufey said, throwing a great seal down by the fire. "Please honour me by eating of my hunt."

"You bring meat to my hearth, my king," Hermione said with a fond smile. "It warms both my heart and my stomach," she finished formally.

Håkon turned his nose up in mock offense. "Bah! She can hunt her own seal. Why do you spoil her so?"

"Don't make me thump you about the head with my club, Håkon," Laufey chided the other male. "Besides. You would have done so, had you not been so preoccupied dragging Snorre's sorry arse across the floes instead."

"I can do my own hunting!" Hermione protested.

"Bah," both males said, dismissing her protests.

"While I admire a female who can hunt so well with a spear, Hermione," Laufey purred, "you take care of our people, and it is—"

"Tradition, I know," Hermione moaned, but her brown eyes were warm. "Thank you, King Laufey."

"Just Laufey," the Jötunn king admonished. "Call me by title only when you think someone doubts who I am."

"Well, technically, we _are_ around Snorre—"

The two Jötunn males shook their heads. "He doesn't count, Hermione. He doubts the validity of anyone who does not beat him upside the head soundly with a whale."

Hermione sputtered and pulled her ulu from her belt. "I have not, nor shall I ever, beat my patients upside the head with a whale!"

"You should with him," Laufey laughed. "He _needs_ it."

Hermione shook her head and set to work on the Jötunn's offering. The seal, as all frost seals were, large enough to feed many Jötunn for many, many days, so it fed Hermione for months upon months, unless she had guests or patients, which was much of the time. Jötunheimr was astonishingly inhospitable, even for a native Jötunn, and while they were immune to the cold, they were not immune to the dangers that lurked upon the snow and ice. Some of those dangers were due to the environment itself. Some— were, unfortunately, dangers from other Realms who came with violence in their hearts, believing the Jötunn were lesser beings than themselves and needed to be reminded who was superior.

Now, at least, there was a tenuous peace between the Jötunheimr and Ásgarðr, brokered by Útgarða-Loki of Útgarðr. Útgarða-Loki was the only giant on Jötunheimr that could demand of Laufey and his people to lay down their spears in peace when their very hearts cried out for justice, for Útgarða-Loki was a sorcerer with the power to control the already dangerous weather. Defy _him_ and Jötunheimr would surely swallow you whole. While Laufey was known as the king of his people, Útgarða-Loki spoke for Jötunheimr— one because of his power of the weather of Jötunheimr, and two because when Odin of Ásgarðr came down to beat Laufey in combat, Laufey had been deep in the throes of grief at the death of his mate. The bond between them had shattered his heart and mind to the point where he was but a club-swinging brute with very little mind left to him. It had taken Laufey many long years of wandering the wastes to assuage his grief and rediscover his own sanity, and by the time he finally had, Útgarða-Loki had firmly seized the throne of power, even if not in title. He had not been alone. Many, many Jötunn hunters had banished themselves off to the wastes to mourn after the war. Not all had returned.

Hermione skinned the seal quickly, gutted it, and set the various offal into piles according to purpose. The meat she sliced thinly and smoked by the fire, but the fatty blubber, she cut into more manageable pieces and preserved in caches in the cave. She cut out a few large chunks of choice blubber and and set them by the fire. "Join me for dinner, my friends?"

"Of course," Håkon chuckled as he waited for his king to sit first. Both sat by the fire and enjoyed a quiet meal with their hostess.

"What did _do_ you do to this, Hermione?" Håkon said with a moan of pleasure. "You never fail to ensorcell me with your insidious food magic."

"It's called seasoning, Håkon, you should try it some time," Hermione snorted, causing Laufey to laugh.

"No wonder your woman refuses you," Laufey scoffed.

Håkon pouted. "I am a _very_ good provider, my king, and you know it!"

"Provider, yes," Laufey said. "Creativity, not so much."

Håkon sulked. "You appreciate me, don't you, Hermione?"

"Of course I do, Håkon," she assured him.

"I swear I was bonded to the wrong female," Håkon pouted.

"We cannot help who we are drawn to, my friend," Laufey said, "or most assuredly I would court her myself, so she would never wish to leave our people."

"Bah! She fell on _me_ first," Håkon muttered disconsolately.

"You were a _**CHILD!**_ " Hermione protested.

Laufey chuckled. "You have been with us a very long time, Hermione. Long enough that I keep waiting for one of our own to find he is called to woo you with his hunting prowess and take you as a mate."

"Argh! Now you sound like the elder females telling me I'm going to pine away without a proper mate."

Laufey smiled. "Is it so bad that we would wish you to be happy?"

"Believe me, I am far happier now that I was so many moons ago, back when I first fell on Håkon."

"Burst into tears at the very bellow of a seal," Laufey said, remembering the moment quite vividly.

"I was raised to believe that seals were not for eating!"

"If not eating, what?" Håkon groaned.

Hermione slumped. "Obviously I got over it after almost starving myself to death."

"Obviously," Laufey chuckled.

"My mother thought you were going to starve altogether," Håkon observed. "You looked at our food as though it would haunt you forever if you ate it."

Hermione slumped. "Where I come from, most seal species are endangered and at risk of extinction. Only the natives of certain areas are permitted to hunt and eat them."

"Only natives of certain areas are allowed not to starve?"

Hermione facepalmed. "Not _exactly_."

"Let it go, Håkon," Laufey said with a soft snort. "I'm sure if we ever visited Miðgarðr, we would surely horrify the masses with our heathen manners and eating of seals."

Hermione groaned, just shaking her head at the two frost giants. "You _do_ realise that the very sight of you in Miðgarðr would probably send the masses into a screaming panic as they tried to take you down with _fighter jets_ and _tactical missiles_ , right?"

The two giants looked at her with utterly baffled expressions.

Hermione, realising she had unthinkingly woven her native English into a perfectly normal Jötunn conversation said, "Flying metal machine that shoots exploding projectiles" and "metal-crafted dragons."

"You didn't run screaming in panic," Håkon observed.

"No, that was _you_ ," Laufey ribbed, grinning.

"Do shut it," Håkon muttered. "My king," he hastily added. "I will have you know that I was barely in my hundreds at the time."

Hermione snickered into her palm. "I will admit, I was far too occupied with trying to figure out where on earth I _was_ just then to bother with much else. The existence of Jötunheimr, nevermind the other Realms, is hardly a standard teaching in any class, and even my admittedly extensive knowledge of mythology wasn't much help there."

"We are hardly beings of myth," Håkon pointed out.

"Well, I'm afraid that you _are_ to Midgardians," Hermione replied, visibly amused.

"What was that word you used for Miðgarðr?"

" _Earth_."

"Earth… hrm. Well, it _is_ a bit shorter to say." Håkon shrugged.

"Learning how to speak the language here had my tongue tied in knots," Hermione said with a sigh. "Almost literally. That and it sounded like everyone was angry with each other, which was more than a little alarming."

"At least you didn't start with mountain giants," Laufey said. "Then you would have thought us all dullards and our language like gargling with dirt."

"I did make that comparison when you had me learn it," Hermione confessed. "I cursed your name quite frequently back then."

Laufey smiled. "I figured that's what that odd barking was about."

Hermione shook her head and then her finger at the smirking Jötunn king.

A loud rustling and thumping signalled that someone was coming near the entrance to the cave, and Laufey and Håkon were on their feet almost immediately, spears brandished. A giant pushed past the hides, letting in a blast of frigid air that caused Hermione to shudder immediately, despite herself.

"Please pardon my intrusion, Healer Hermione!" the giant blurted. "My king, the Bifröst has opened over the wastes!"

" _ **What?"**_ Laufey growled, his knuckles tightening around his spear. "Have the females carry their daggers," he growled. "Håkon, see to it that the children are hidden."

"Yes, my king," Håkon said, fleeing the cave in a mad rush.

"Take me to where the Bifröst opened," Laufey said darkly, his face twisted into a mask of barely-contained hatred.

The hides rustled again as a singularly large brute of a Jötunn pushed his way in.

"Magnus?"

"My king," Magnus said as he patted a limp body slung over his shoulder. "Something fell through the Bifröst and into the wastes," he said with a very strange, rather baffled look on his face. "He is— Jötunn, my king. But he is the size of an Asgardian, as you can see."

Laufey blinked as Magnus lay the comparatively small body down on the pile of furs next to Snorre.

"He is also bleeding from a great many places."

Hermione immediately ran up, carrying a bowl of charm-heated water and various supplies. "Move aside please," she requested, setting to work at once.

"How is this even _possible_?" Laufey asked faintly, his garnet eyes wide with shock.

"I'd imagine in the usual way," Hermione said distractedly, carefully cleansing the injured Jotunn's wounds and passing her hands over the bowls. The ingredients hovered in the air, merging together into a fragrant poultice, and then it applied itself to the wounds. Hermione wrapped them all securely with long strands of tough ice-plant fibre. She grabbed some of it between her teeth, weaving it with her fingers to knot it in place, even as her magic surged across her skin and assisted her in weaving the rest.

Golden strands of her altered magic glided across the strange Jötunn's cobalt skin, running across his runic markings and causing them to glow brightly. Laufey swiftly exchanged glances with Magnus, something unspoken travelling between them. The two then silently slipped out of the cave, leaving Hermione alone with the injured male, stopping only to stealthily grab Snorre by the legs and drag him out by his feet.

She ran a warm, damp cloth over his face and arms, cleaning the blood away. She moved her hand over the soiled cloth, cleaning it with her magic. The cloth was soft, like silk, but it was unlike any silk she had ever felt before. Her magic made quick work of the cleansing process, and Hermione smiled, happy that her many years in exile to this foreign realm had given her plenty of time to hone and refine her naturally powerful magic into the kind that didn't require the use of a wand. In fact, Hermione found she didn't even miss her wand anymore— it was carefully tucked away in a frozen cache more for the fond memories than an actual need.

The truth was, ever since a petulant Ron had so ingloriously hit her with some horrid mishmash of a badly mispronounced spell, shattering the magically-altered time-turner that Dumbledore had left for her and sending her careening into the ether and beyond— to the Realm of Jötunheimr, her magic had, out of sheer necessity, been forced to evolve. Laufey called it sorcery, much like that of their un-king Útgarða-Loki. Whatever it was or had been, and whatever it might come to be, Hermione knew that it was very different from the magic of her childhood and different from what she would expect as a witch. It responded to her need and will in a way her other magic did _not_.

Even her Animagus form was different here on the frozen wastes— here in this Realm of snow and ice. Here, she became something she could only describe as a— beast. Once, when she had been out hunting on the floes as her giant beastly self, trying to get used to having tusks and jagged fangs and the kind of astonishing speed that made her dizzy just walking fast, she'd stumbled across an apparently orphaned creature of her Animagus kind frozen out on the ice. It had been a mere pup of a Jötunheimr frost-beast, from what Laufey had told her, and eventually it had grown into a great hulking beast that liked to cuddle with his "mum" and guard the cave. Håkon had said they tended to travel in "small" packs with the mother until the young males felt the drive to find a mate and start their own family, but Bjørn had demonstrated no sign of new aggression or of desiring to leave. She'd given him the name Bjørn because he had rather resembled a bear cub as a pup, with thick woolly fur and a barrel chest, oversized feet and a bumbling, clumsy demeanour. He'd grown into quite the monster over time, and he seemed quite in tune with her needs.

Hermione carefully patted the injured Jötunn's skin dry with a soft cloth, moving his shirt back in place to allow him some dignity. She had never seen a Jötunn like him before— one her size, relatively speaking. She knew he was at least two metres high by the earth standard estimate, which was hardly short by _her_ judge of height. She herself was lucky to hit around one point seven meters on a good day, sans her wild mane of hair. His face was finely chiseled with high cheekbones. His markings were in high relief, standing out against his smooth dark cobalt skin. There was something about him— the dark tangle of glossy black hair or the shape of his hands. It was something utterly provocative, and it caused Hermione no small amount of awkward discomfort as she realised there really was something strangely attractive about him.

 _What is wrong with you, Hermione? You have_ _ **never**_ _thought of one of your patients as being attractive! Get a grip, girl!_

Hermione moved to push herself away and off the ground when the young man's eyes suddenly shot open. He flung her into the side of the cave wall, shoving his arm up against her throat.

"Who _**are**_ you?!" he demanded. "And where _**am**_ I?"

Bjørn, who had risen from the back of the cave, growled menacingly, baring his teeth as his spiked tail lashed back and forth in clear warning.

Hermione, who had never heard his type of speech without the distinctive Jötunn accent, narrowed her eyes. He _was_ Asgardian— a non-giant Jötunn who spoke fluent Asgardian, anyway.

"Bjørn, be still," Hermione ordered the ever-protective beast in fluent Jötunn. It was now the language of choice that she defaulted to. She dreamed in it, even to the point of when she dreamed of Earth and being back home with her parents, her parents had blue faces, red eyes, and spoke to her in Jötunn.

The beast narrowed his eyes, obviously conflicted. She couldn't really blame him. Her guest's body was as tightly wound as a spring, and she— she _really_ needed to stop feeling this strange undeniable attraction to this stranger who spoke fluent Asgardian. Bjørn decided that obeying was better than being scolded later for eating her guest, and he curled back up at the back of the cave, keeping a careful eye on their "guest".

The hunter, or at least, that is what she assumed he was, seemed very confused.

Hermione struggled to remember her Asgardian. "Speak your language if you must. Slowly, for you sound… different."

His eyes widened, his throat working as his mind did the digesting. "Please. Where _**am**_ I? What have you _**done**_ to me?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "You fell out from the Bifröst into Jötunheimr. Magnus, one of our hunters, brought you in here so that I could bind your wounds."

"You have ensorcelled me!" he cried, pressing close to her, yet he seemed horrified that he was doing so. He showed wildly conflicting emotions, both wanting to press closer and shove her away at the same time.

"I am a healer. I did nothing to you that you did not require."

"Did you just call me a cabbage?"

Hermione closed her eyes and slowly counted to ten. "I am a healer. _Healer_ ," she enunciated clearly, pointing to herself. Then she pointed to his various wounds and made elaborate wrapping motions.

"Hermione," she said, pointing to herself.

He seemed to struggle a moment. "I am called Loki."

He released his hold upon her, both apologetic and hungry to feel her touch upon his fevered skin. What was _wrong_ with him?

The flap of the hides at the entrance signalled a powerful gust of wind, and it sent a strong chill through the cave. Oddly, it did not feel so bad to him, but he could tell its effect on her, she rubbed her hands over her arms to warm herself and stood closer to the fire. The great Jötunheimr beast moved closer, curling itself around her, and she snuggled into its body for warmth.

Loki felt a pounding in his chest as a strange feeling of jealousy came over him. She should be seeking _him_ for warmth! What in _Helheim_ was going on in his head?

He moved to pin the hides better to the entrance, noting the rocks had moved, and he carefully replaced them. As he stood, he froze, staring at the ice-wall as he caught sight of his very blue skin— distinctive runic patterns spread across his arms and hands. He felt the sides of his face, finding them there as well. No, this _couldn't_ be!

He staggered back, visibly panicked, and Hermione stood up, ignoring the cold to approach him, a worried look on her face.

Jötunn?

How was that even _possible?_

Was _that_ the reason Sigyn had taken her dagger to his gut and cast him into the whirlpool the very day before they were to be wed?

And why did he feel so very relieved about that?

He staggered, clutching his head. "What is _wrong_ with me?"

"Loki?" Hermione said. Her hands touched his arms as her warm eyes stared into his face.

A jolt of pleasure so intense that it was almost pain ran from his toes all the way up to his brain, and he suddenly blacked out.

* * *

 _Loki opened his eyes in the darkness of the cave, with only embers sending a soft glow through the dwelling this strange and beautiful sorceress had made her home in._

 _She lay, pressed snugly against his body, tucked against his skin in a way that both maddened and calmed him at the same time. Never in his life had he ever felt such an overwhelming pull before to anyone, neither male nor female. It was a need so powerful that he found could not even hope to ignore it— the need for her approval, the need to have her, hold her, join his body to hers. He could not imagine his life without her, yet he knew so very little about her. How could this_ _ **be**_ _?_

 _He stared at her sleeping face, his breath hitching in his throat as he saw the distinctive raised markings had spread across her skin as well, a distinctive deep blue moving across her pale, pinkish skin. Each night they lay together, it took a little more from her, inexorably binding her to him with such warmth and closeness that he could hardly think of what life would be like without her there. He pressed his mouth to her markings, his tongue sliding across the intricately raised flesh, hungering for her and the very taste of her. No female had ever called to him like_ _ **she**_ _did, and she did not even have to say a word._

 _Even now, in her sleep, she curled up against him peacefully, seeking out the curve of his body around her. With each subsequent coupling, the bond was becoming absolutely undeniable— as clear as the spread of blue across her fair skin and the markings across her body. She slept when they were not joined together in an intense drive to mate— a magical sleep that pulled her into oblivion as her body succumbed to the bond and the transformation that was both tearing her apart and remaking her entirely. Sometimes she would wake from that deep, encompassing slumber, and he would feed her, chewing the food for her and passing it to her as the wild animals were known to do, but he didn't even balk at it. She didn't seem to mind. It seemed so natural to feed one's mate. If she was weak, he could help her eat. He would help her grow strong again._

" _Soon," Loki whispered into her hair. "Soon, nothing and no one shall ever part us, my love."_

 _Something told him that he had to keep her close, that constant physical contact was essential until the blue had covered every inch of her body and the crimson had swallowed up her lovely eyes._

 _But she was there now, with him. Unafraid._

 _He pressed his nose into her hair, imprinting the strongest of her scent of skin into his memory. "Hermione," he whispered, watching her eyes flutter and open slowly, drowsily. Trails of crimson were starting to bleed across her eyes, but it was the trust he saw there that unmade him. She trusted him to protect her— to love her._

 _Suddenly, she was pulled from his arms, torn from him as one would a coat._

 _Loki screamed in agony as Hermione was dragged away by the hair, deprived of her stabilising touch._

 _Her eyes—_

 _No._

 _The betrayal in her eyes._

 _No, Hermione! He tried to go to her, but his legs wouldn't move._

 _Hermione disappeared into the blizzard as the snow and ice swallowed her up._

 _Sigyn was there, screaming at him for betraying their betrothal, calling him a Jötunn freak._

" _I heard you parents talking,_ _ **PRINCE**_ _Loki. You're not even truly their son! You're_ _ **NOT**_ _one of us!"_

" _Sigyn, what in Helheim are you_ _ **talking**_ _about—"_

" _I will_ _ **never**_ _marry you. I will not bind myself to some blue, red-eyed_ _ **freak**_ _!"_

 _Her dagger was in her hand._

 _And then it was plunged straight into his gut—_

 _He was falling, spinning, drowning and the glimmer of the Bifröst swallowed him whole._

* * *

Loki awoke feeling the pain of longing so intense that it wrung a soft cry of pain from his lips.

A cool cloth brushed against his forehead, but it it was the light brush of fingers across his skin, no, his _markings_ that calmed him and gave him the most exquisite pleasure imaginable.

His _Jötunn_ markings.

Loki's eyes shot open in a panic, convinced that he would endanger everything merely by _existing—_ murdering simply for no reason than being a mindless, raging beast.

The vision tortured him with such a promise of blissful completeness yet tortured him with the terrible pain of watching her torn from his side as a look of utter betrayal filled her eyes. His hand was around her wrist, holding it like a vice, and Hermione winced in pain.

The moment it happened, he felt her pain, and he loosened his grip as though he'd touched a burning piece of metal.

The damage was done.

She dropped the cloth, giving him a concerned look, but she didn't make any other movements. Not close to him. Not to touch him.

"I know you are bound to another," she said sadly, her brown eyes tinged with pain. "You call out to her in your sleep. Do not be ashamed that your Jötunn hormones tell you otherwise."

"There _is_ no other," Loki whispered.

Hermione gave him a shake of her head. "Who is Sigyn then?"

Loki winced. "My betrothed."

Hermione gave him a _look_.

"She is the reason I'm here," Loki explained. "I dreamt of her— calling me a freak and plunging her dagger into my gut— throwing me into the whirlpool, hoping I that would drown, but it spat me out into the Bifröst instead."

Hermione frowned, concentrating on his words. "I am truly sorry," she said after a while. "It takes me a while to work out what is that you're saying. It's like knowing the words but your… accent is very different from what I'm accustomed to. I'm not sure what Asgardian culture truly is, but if stabbing your betrothed is considered to be standard procedure, I am very glad I am here and not there."

"Somehow, she _knew_ I was Jötunn," he said.

Hermione gave him a look. "It is somewhat obvious."

Loki shook his head. "I did not look like this at the time!" Loki yelled then cringed as Hermione took a step back. He took a deep breath. "This," he said pinching his skin. "This is _new_."

"Håkon says if a frost Jötunn goes to a place that is not cold, they shrink and look… strange."

"By _strange_ , you mean normal."

"Not for a Jötunn," Hermione replied, frowning. "Perhaps exposure to the freezing cold is what changed you."

" _ **I**_ am not a _**monster**_!"

Hermione's brow furrowed. "Is _that_ what truly you think that Jötunn are?" she said, her voice raising. "Sigrunn trained me for over hundreds of years to take her place as healer for this tribe. She defended me from those that called me a runt. Tiny. She _believed_ in me. She taught me to hunt. She taught me to weave. She taught me to watch the beasts on the floes to know when one was hunting and when it was just passing through. She taught me the language of all the Jötunn races so I would never be caught off guard. And you, Asgardian. Your people shoved a spear through her back for being a heathen."

Loki's face changed to a look of frank disbelief.

Hermione's fist clenched. "Families bring me food from their hunts every week to help me feed my patients and myself. Håkon, who should be out there impressing his intended mate, brings me seals and frost-sabres because he thinks I will freeze to death before I starve to death. King Laufey comes by every week and tells me stories of his people dating back to the time for the first snows— stories taught to him by his father's father. They protect me here, which is more than I can say of my own people, who cast me out for my 'tainted' blood, and my supposed best friend, who couldn't handle that I didn't want to marry him, so he cursed me to this place in an utterly random bit of hate-filled magic."

Loki looked as though he were going to say something.

"No, do not give me any excuses," Hermione said, her anger making her hair lift and writhe like serpents. Plump frost-spiders, looking like fluffy little snowballs, clung to the strands making frightened little squeaks as her hair tried to fly away with them. They quickly scurried about, casting silken jets, bringing Hermione's hair back under control so that they could dart back under it in safety.

"F— you have frost spiders in your hair," Loki stammered a bit nervously.

"What of it?" Hermione hissed. "Are you going to tell me _they_ are monsters too?"

Loki's jaw worked. "Well, they are the most venomous creature of Jötunheimr and you can't even try to squish them without them coming back to attack you."

"You can thank _**THEM**_ for your bandages, Asgardian," Hermione said coldly. "Or do you think silk bandages spring out of the ground from the frozen glacier, pre-made?" She placed her hand by her neck, and a frost-spider crawled out onto her fingers and cooed. She lowered her head, and the creature hugged her cheek with its legs before scurrying back into her hair.

Loki stared, perhaps contemplating the new meaning of self-defense if someone were to try and get too close, only to end up with a face full of highly venomous, pissed-off frost spiders.

"Please, my name is Loki," he said quietly. "And I thank you— for saving my life."

Hermione's lip curled, but she closed her eyes briefly in acknowledgement. "You may stay here until you are healed. Then, it will be up to our king to decide your fate."

"Heal me up only to throw me back into the wastes?" Loki blurted.

Hermione did a slow blink. "Perhaps you should get to know them before making such presumptions, Loki of Ásgarðr."

Loki stiffened, digging his nails into his palms. "I'm sorry, I can't— I can barely— It is maddening. This… _need_. I want—"

Hermione's face turned clinical. "You have the fevers," she said quietly, a note of sympathy in her voice, despite the earlier fury. "I will go fetch the King and see if we can transport you back to Ásgarðr to be with your intended mate."

Loki trembled. "Sigyn is not who I see in my head, it is _you_."

Hermione shook her head adamantly.

"Please," Loki whispered. "Just the touch of your skin— it… it calms me. Please, I beg you. This madness." His breaths came in heated gasps, his body driven by instincts he didn't understand, nor had he ever felt them before.

Hermione seemed somewhat conflicted. "You have never seen me before. It cannot be me."

"I swear to you, it is not just… hormones. It is maddening. It is fire and ice. I need— _please…_ Hermione," Loki's crimson eyes stared pleadingly into hers. "Please?"

"It _cannot_ be me," Hermione said again, shaking her head adamantly.

Loki carefully extended his hand to her.

Slow, Hermione placed her hand in his, and the moment that first essential contact was made, a jolt of powerful energy surged between them. Hermione gasped, suddenly all too aware of what Loki was feeling— everything he was feeling at once.

His arms pulled her close, and he pressed his face into her air, dislodging a few disgruntled spiders that parachuted off her opposite shoulder to find a place to settle for the time being. A low, rumbling growl came from deep within his throat as he took her neck between his teeth, his pearly white almost-fangs wreaking havoc upon her skin.

Hermione gasped, her voice coming out as groan, the very sound of it causing Loki to pull her even more tightly to himself. He rubbed his cheek against her like a cat, his hands moving slowly down her bare arms. He growled with frustration as his hands met her furs— meant to keep her warm but it restricted him from what he wanted. He wanted to feel her skin mated entirely to his. He wanted to feel her move against— writhing as his touch both destroyed and remade her. He wanted—

"Hermione," he breathed unsteadily into her ear. "Please, will you accept me as your lover?"

Hermione gave a gasping whimper. She panted, her body quivering with the strength of her own desire. "I'm frightened," she admitted quietly.

"A kiss," Loki breathed against her skin. "Then you can decide—" Loki paused, tormented. "Then you can decide to stay or push me away."

"Okay," Hermione said, her voice trembling, hundreds of years worth of terrible, aching loneliness whispering behind her voice.

Loki was no inept or inexperienced lover, but he realised that far more than the possibility of rejection lay within this single act of passion. Every female he had bedded before had been a mere fleeting lover, none of which he had ever cared about, save, perhaps, a marginal want to at least give her a fair share of pleasure in return. It wasn't, however, anything like this irresistible _drive_ to imprint himself thoroughly upon Hermione, to roll in her luscious scent, and merge their bodies together as one.

Loki gently pressed his mouth to hers, his tongue teasing her lips for the most important entry, and she hesitantly parted for him. His tongue found hers, and then they slid against each other, shyly at first and then hungrily, initially tentative but then dominant. They battled for it, the moans elicited by their heightened passion growing ever louder and longer between them. They parted only briefly to accommodate their mutual need to breathe, and Loki's breath created a cloud of frost that Hermione breathed in, eyes fluttering.

Hermione panted, her hands sliding against his exposed sides where his shirt had been creeping ever upward, and her skin made contact with his with her gentle caressing of his runic markings.

Loki's long legs buckled as he let loose a deep groan, his crimson eyes growing wide and filling with lust as he both latched onto her neck and swiftly de-shirted himself, exposing his chest and back for her exploration. She arched upwards, the light brush of her skin against his caused him to suck on her neck, and she whimpered with the intense pleasure of his mouth wreaking havoc upon her nerve endings. His deft fingers found the ties to her fur and hide coverings, and he enveloped one inviting nipple in the heat of his mouth.

The moment his heated mouth touched her sensitive skin, she cried out, and her hips ground into his. He, in turn, ground against hers, but was stymied by his own pants. She was hot against him, her body nearly steaming in the chill Jötunheimr air, even so close to the fire. His heated mouth combined with the cool touch of his skin teased her into full readiness, and if her soft pants and moans, and writhing against his body wasn't enough of an indicator, there were other, wetter indicators to be had.

And yet, she knew _exactly_ what he was.

Still, she so obviously wanted him just as much as he did her.

Loki panted, pausing a moment, frightened by the overwhelming strength of this emotion without even a short courtship to precede such intense yearnings. Yet a part of him knew without a doubt, that he would do absolutely _anything_ to be with her and keep her forever at his side. There was a tingling thought buried somewhere deep inside his brain, reminding him that his long courtship with Sigyn had been singular for an utter lack of stimulation of _any_ kind, and that 'courtship' had already spanned multiple centuries.

 _Centuries_.

Centuries without even a fraction of the need he felt for _her—_ this lovely healer. _Hermione_.

How was it possible?

He had never been a believer in love at first sight, thinking it to be just some made-up mortal stupidity to justify their random lustful couplings without instant regret.

So what _was_ this feeling— this driving, all-encompassing _need_?

"Hermione," he breathed into her ear, his breaths heavy and filled with unmistakable need. "Please—" his palms brushed her cheeks on both sides as he pressed his forehead to hers, relishing the feel of her soft skin against his. "Allow me to love you."

Hermione looked painfully conflicted, her desire and her want for him mixed with a mind that could not accept that he— or perhaps anyone else— would have interest in her. How long had she lived here? Surrounded by Jötunn couples but without a mate to call her own? Perhaps, she had thought she needed no mate to complete her— until one showed up.

Her fingers traced the lines of his face, even as a rush of pleasurable magic sent a thrum of ecstasy through every nerve ending in his face, sending it rushing straight to his brain and lower, to more primal places. And then he saw it—

* * *

" _You really are just a frigid little bint of a bookworm. I bet you wouldn't even know what to do with a cock if you ever saw one. Maybe faint dead away. I bet that's the real reason Viktor doesn't come calling anymore. You're way too afraid of actually enjoying a little sex, aren't you?" a blazing, red-faced redhead screamed at her, his wand tip glowing ominously and flickering back and forth between a violent red and a sickly shade of green. "You think you're too good for me, don't you,'Mione? Too good for anyone, maybe? You're every bit as bad as those bloody Slytherin wankers, you are! You think you're too good for_ _ **anyone!**_ "

" _Ron! For Merlin's sake, I'm trying to do something for Dumble—"_

" _Oh, now don't you start too, 'Mione! I know you're just looking for any excuse to meddle. Harry got all the fame and glory from the war and you want some of that for yourself! Not satisfied! Not ever willing to even consider that other people have needs too—"_

" _Ron! It's not like that at all! I need to go back and save—"_

" _Save who?" Ron snarled. "Save WHO, 'Mione? Because it had better as_ _ **FUCK**_ _be Fred who my mother is crying over every day. Every fucking day!"_

 _Hermione was silent._

 _Ron's face darkened. "It's not, is it._ _ **WHO**_ _is it, 'Mione?"_

" _Ron—"_

" _ **WHO THE FUCK IS IT THAT YOU JUST HAVE TO FUCKING SAVE?!"**_

" _Professor Snape," Hermione said quietly._

" _Oh,_ _ **FUCK**_ _no," Ron yelled. "If Dumbledore gave you a way to save someone, it's going to be my dead brother who_ _ **DESERVES**_ _to be saved!"_

" _Dumbledore said—"_

 _Ron made to snatch the time-turner around Hermione's neck. Hermione grabbed it back, holding it tightly. "_ _ **No, Ron!"**_

 _In an instant, Ron's wand was aimed just below her throat and he blurted out a chain of words that almost sounded like some kind of language but wasn't anything Hermione actually recognised. The blast struck her directly in the chest, shattering the time-turner in her hands. The object made a high-pitched whine just before it exploded and shattered, sending shards of the turner, sand, and some kind of glimmering liquid to embed themselves into her body as the brunt of the strange spell surrounded her with a bright, pulsing light._

" _Hermione, I brought you the cloak so you can—_ _**HERMIONE!"**_ _Harry yelled as he threw himself at Hermione, but the magic blasted him backwards, arse over teakettle._

" _ **HERMIONE!"**_

" _Harry—" Hermione desperately reached for him, her fingers outstretched. She screamed as it felt like she was being torn apart, body and soul, even as the sound of a solitary phoenix's mournful cry rang out over the rushing of sand. Bitter, paralysing, frigid cold blew in from a forming vortex, seeming to vacuum the broken bits of her up into itself. The vortex seened to roar in triumph just as it winked them both out of existence with a blinding flash of light._

 _Hermione was gone._

 _It was as if she had never existed in the first place._

* * *

 _A huge blue giant of a woman wrapped a warm fur around Hermione as she gently ushered her into a large ice cave. Hermione looked around frantically, visibly frightened, dwarfed by even the "small" fur covering she had been given for warmth._

 _The woman thumped her chest, pointing to herself. "Sigrunn," she said. She said other things, but Hermione couldn't understand her._

 _Hermione shook her head. She pointed to herself. "Hermione."_

 _The Jötunn woman smiled and patted the furs next to the fire for her. She dug around the cave and found a small bowl— or at least small for her. The bowl was about the size of Hermione's head. Sigrunn took an ulu and sliced up small pieces of a nearby cache of food, putting it in the bowl, pantomiming eating and giving it to Hermione._

 _Hermione stared at the bowl with frank suspicion._

 _Sigrunn snorted softly, taking a piece from the top and eating it in front of her. She grunted something that probably meant, "Eat."_

 _Hermione tentatively picked up a piece, wrinkling her nose in obvious distaste._

 _Sigrunn narrowed her eyes, making a gesture at her that all children know well from their mothers. "Eat it and like it."_

 _Hermione seemed to gather her willpower and took a bite. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she devoured the whole bowl full in a matter of minutes._

 _Sigrunn let out a chortling laugh, thumping Hermione on the back with her hand ever so gently. She pointed to the sleeping furs near the crackling fire and pantomimed resting her head down. She repeated a word again, and Hermione repeated it. Sigrunn smiled and said it again, this time, it was in the unmistakable tone of a direct order._

 _Hermione cuddled under the furs and tried to sleep, but even with the fire it seemed strangely colder than she could sleep in._

 _Sigrunn opened up the furs and dropped in something next to her— something that was warm and... purring?_

 _ **MrrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRrrrr.**_

 _Hermione stared at a wide-eyed kitten-looking, long-toothed… something that stared right back at her. The furs heated up almost immediately, and she got a rough but thorough tongue bath for her trouble._

 _The "kitten" which was nearly as large as a Siberian tiger on Earth, promptly cuddled up against her and murred happily in obvious contentment._

 _Hermione tentatively pet the kitten's thick fur and snuggled into its warmth, finding that sleep was much easier now._

* * *

" _You ride that thing like a warcat, Hermione," Laufey chuckled._

" _He's warm!" Hermione laughed. "I love him."_

" _And he loves you," the giant replied, sitting by the fire. He pulled his haul with him and sat by the fire._

" _May I help?"_

" _Of course," Laufey chuckled. "I have a present for you."_

" _Ooo!" Hermione exclaimed. "A coat my own size?"_

 _The Jötunn laughed. "Alas, no, but something that might help you to make your own."_

 _Hermione perked. She jumped off the giant kitten and hugged his neck before sitting next to the Jötunn hunter._

 _Laufey unwrapped something from a seal skin and handed to her._

" _My own ulu!" Hermione squealed with delight. She hugged Laufey, managing only to wrap her arms partially around his belt as he sat down. The giant chuckled warmly and cupped her in a hand-hug._

" _I had our most talented blacksmith craft that for you, Hermione. He wanted to know why I was supplying children with skinning blades."_

 _Hermione laughed. "Some of us never grow up!" Hermione said with a grin._

" _I'm glad you have taken to our language so well," he said, clearly pleased. "Many of us were worried when you fell on poor Håkon that you might have hit your head on the way down."_

 _Hermione huffed. "Really?"_

 _Laufey grinned at her. "We have found that you may be small, but your heart is the size of the sea-wolf whale, and your spirit is as fierce as the mother sabre-cat protecting her young."_

" _Well, it's definitely not our lazy bones there," Hermione said, pointing to the sleeping sabre-toothed kitten._

" _Hah! But he has had no reason to defend anyone, Hermione. If this ever came up, he would bare his fangs and claws like nothing you have ever seen."_

" _He makes a better snuggle buddy," Hermione said. "Except when he passes gas."_

 _Laufey bellowed laughter. "I would imagine so."_

" _ **Mrowwwww,"**_ _the sabre-kitten yawned._

" _Have you named him yet?" Laufey asked._

" _Tryggr," Hermione told him._

" _The trustworthy one, very apt," Laufey said with a smile._

 _The sabre-kitten lifted his head and yawned toothily at the sound of his name._

 _Hermione leaned into Laufey's knee as she helped him skin the hide. "I heard from Håkon that you are planning to fight the king," she said._

" _I hope not to," Laufey said grimly. "It is my hope that he is willing to listen to reason. Our people must move this camp to where the stone supports the ground. We can hear the ice moving under, and the Great Frost Mother is sending us a clear warning. As it is, Sigrunn is allowing the elderly to shelter in her cave with you, for if the ice cracks, they will be far too slow to move to safety in time."_

 _Hermione was thoughtful. "Maybe— we can convince him the gods have moved us overnight."_

 _Laufey gently turned Hermione to look at him. "What are you plotting, little one?"_

" _A way to keep you from fighting the king."_

 _Laufey looked thoughtful. "It may happen later even if not sooner."_

" _True, but later is later."_

 _Laufey looked thoughtful. "Tell you what, little one. Skin this hide clean, and I will listen to your idea."_

 _Hermione grinned at him. "Deal."_

* * *

 _Hermione hugged Tryggr tightly as he ran across the floes, jumping from iceberg to iceberg as deftly as a athlete running hurdles._

 _Tryggr moved to her will, and she wasn't sure how he knew where she wanted to go, but he always seemed to know. Perhaps it was subtle movements of her muscles, or maybe he could read her mind. Hermione wasn't sure, but the skillful sabre-cat was always able to tell exactly where she needed to be and get her there._

 _The floes were melting, and Laufey had been right. It was time for the camp to find solid ground under the ice instead of relying on the ice to hold where they had camped. To be fair, the camp had survived for over a hundred years as Hermione measured time, but it was rapidly changing. Even Hermione could feel it moving under her as she hunted the wastes to bring back food for Sigrunn. Sigrunn had taught her well, and she had done all she could to make it up to her by ensuring the elder Jötunn never wanted for food or hides. Sigrunn took care of the infirm and elderly. It was a full-time job, and Hermione's job was to learn from her and make sure Sigrunn also remembered to eat._

 _Tryggr mrowled and skidded to a halt on the snows, sniffing the air and Hermione hopped off his back. It was getting harder to just hop off as the kitten was getting larger towards his full adult size— and the full adult size hunted Jötunn. It wasn't that Tryggr himself seemed to notice any difference. He still slept beside her every night thinking himself to be a kitten the size of a Siberian Tiger. All Tryggr cared about was that she was his mistress, playmate, and friend, and really that was all he ever needed to remember._

 _Hermione heard a strange cacophony of squeaks and chatter coming from nearby._

" _Oh no! The shore!"_

" _The shore!"_

" _Can't reach…"_

" _Shoot the silk to the shore!"_

" _Tried! It's— EEEEE! Tilt!"_

" _Mummy, what are we going to do!"_

" _Cling to me, little ones!"_

" _But Mummy, the shore is that way!"_

 _Hermione stared across the floes. Who—?_

 _There, on a floating piece of ice, was a large, fluffy-looking spider covered with countless baby spiders clinging to her back. It was much like a wolf spider with young, only— cuter. Much cuter. They looked like cotton balls with eyes and legs. They were also obviously terrified, trembling against their mother as they realised that land was going the wrong direction, and they were being swept out to sea. The current, breaking up the floes was apparently causing chaos for more than just the frost giants, it had stranded the poor spiders too._

 _Hermione, used to magical creatures from her childhood, really didn't question the fact that these spiders were talking. Acromantulas could speak, if and when they really wanted to, so what was one more talking spider? These were much smaller spiders, very unlike Acromantulas, and she felt bad they were being endangered by their own environment._

 _Quickly pulling out her wand, she aimed it the rapidly fleeing iceberg. "Wingardium Leviosa!"_

 _The iceberg floated up above the water, slowly making its way back to shore. As the berg flopped down on the firm, unbreakable ice, the spiders all ran to the edge of the berg and looked, feeling with their feelers to the ground under it._

" _Safe?"_

" _Saved!"_

" _She saved us!"_

" _She's not as big as the giants who step on us!"_

" _Mummy hates that!"_

" _She bites their toes so they limp for weeks!"_

" _We should say thanks!"_

" _Do you think she'll hear us?"_

" _Nobody hears us. We're too tiny."_

" _I can hear you," Hermione said. Tryggr lowered his head and whuffed, sending a few spiders tumbling head over abdomen._

" _Eee!"_

 _The larger mother spider slowly moved up to Hermione and tapped her front legs on Hermione's seal-hide boots. "Thank you."_

 _Hermione smiled. "You're welcome."_

" _We come with you?" the babies asked sweetly._

" _We can keep your neck warm!"_

" _We're light!"_

" _We travel well!"_

" _Mummy won't bite you, will you, Mummy?"_

" _We can make silk soon!"_

" _Help you!"_

" _You saved us!"_

" _Saved us!"_

 _Hermione blinked. "Well, okay, but only if you promise not to bite."_

" _We promise!" they all chimed together._

 _Hermione put her hand down, and they all crawled up her arm and chained themselves together around her neck like a scarf. Sure enough, they were quite warm and kept her neck nicely protected from the bitter cold._

 _Hermione wasn't sure how well this was going to go over back at the camp, but they had promised not to bite her. Why had she simply taken them at their word?_

 _Still, they seemed quite happy to oblige—_

 _She looked around the area. "What do you think, Tryggr?"_

 _The frost sabre gave her a shrug._

 _The shore was rocky, but it was flat with a ring of cliffs that were just high enough to separate the shore from the glaciers and ice beyond. She tapped the stone with her walking stick, and it did not ring hollow like the ice would to signal something cavernous beneath— or watery._

 _Hermione took some things out from the saddlebags on Tryggr and hugged his neck, rubbing his ears gently. "Well, let's see if the Great Frost Mother approves of this place… and my plan."_

 _She unstrapped her hunting spear from Tryggr, and she gave him a fond pat before setting off to walk the shore— when she saw the highly distinctive, black-tipped white fin of another kind of hunter patrolling the frigid waters: the ice-shark. Known to beach themselves to get at frost seals, the ice-shark was the kind of predator that wouldn't mind taking Jötunn children if they strayed too close to the shore— and Hermione was just the right size._

 _Hermione smiled._ _ **Exactly**_ _the right size, in fact. She walked right up to the edge of the water and plunked herself down. She shoved her legs into the cold sand and rock and carefully positioned her spear._

" _Just how hungry are you, sea-hunter?" Hermione asked the shark._

" _Great Frost Mother," she whispered the ancient prayer. "Guide my spear directly to its heart that my prey does not suffer but that my family will eat well. Protect me with your cold embrace that I might know mercy both from the beasts and the fury of Jötunheimr herself. I am but a lowly young hunter, struggling to survive and to feed my family. Please bless me with your divine vision that I might carry you in my heart another day."_

 _Several terrified, yelping seals plunged into the water, but as she suspected, the shark was not paying attention to any of them. Ths shark had seen her— easy prey belonging to some foolish, unwary, soon-to-be-grieving Jötunn mother._

" _O Great Mother," Hermione said softly. "Please guide my spear. For I do not wish to suffer, nor do I wish another to suffer because of me."_

 _Never had the words come so easily. She, like the other Jötunn children, learned the words but never actually had to say them. All times before, she had hunted the small prey— the frost hares the ice fish and the snow-elk, staying with the small and the infirm. This was a full-sized ice-shark. These were the prey of Jötunn hunters. It was the only offering worthy of the Great Frost Mother. She had no choice. Her timing had to be perfect— or she would be crushed under the weight of a hundred ton shark. Megalodon, eat your heart out._

 _ **SPLOOSH!**_

 _There was a roaring sound in her ears, and Hermione braced herself._ " _ **Engorgio!"**_ _she yelled, willing all of her power into her spear. The runes she had carved, each and every one by hand using the traditional sabre-tooth awl and the sabre-claw etching tool. Every one she had said the prayers over just as tradition had demanded. Every bit of the ways she had adopted, studied, and incorporated into her own life— this she had channeled into her spear. The hunter's spear. The one thing, like her wand, that she could not, would not, ever leave behind unless the Great Mother herself carried it off into the murky, frozen seas by her own act of will. She may not be the true hunter of the tribe, but she would not dishonour it by walking out onto the oft-treacherous ice floes like an ignorant child without the tools the Great Mother had taught her to use._

 _No._

 _However many hundreds of years she had been here, first learning how to survive but then choosing to learn because they had become her people— her new way of life— she would not even think to dishonour them now. A Jötunn child took many hundreds of years to reach adulthood, but that did not mean it took them forever to grow, no. It took them hundreds of years to learn the skills that would help them to survive out there in the great wasteland of snow and ice. And no matter how big you grew, if you did not succeed in your great hunt— you remained a child until you finally DID succeed._

 _Or, you died trying._

 _Hermione had no intention of becoming the one who died trying, born a Jötunn or no. Sigrunn had invested too much time into teaching her well for Hermione to go out and fail. The tribe depended on her, whether it knew it or not, to find a place they could safely move their camp, hopefully for the good. The elders needed a place that wouldn't swallow them up during the night when the ice shifted just as much as the mothers with children did._

 _Hermione watched the shark's descent upon her spear and she screamed with all her might as she thrust it up towards its heart, bracing herself in the shore as she cast one, final, shielding charm and prayed it would be strong enough to hold up against one extremely heavy and seriously pissed off ice-shark._

 _The runes on her spear glowed bright blue, and her spear grew to the size of a Jötunn hunter's. It plunged keep into the shark's body, seeking the heart, with a speed so fast that it sent the shark tumbling belly over fins onto the rocky shore. It twitched, convulsed, and flopped on the rocky shore, jaws snapping futilely, but eventually, the great beast at last went still. Hermione ran over to it and used all her might to thrust the spear in deeper, making sure the shark was well and truly dead, and she screamed out across the frozen wastes. She yanked the spear out from the shark's lifeless carcass, even as it shrank down to a more manageable size for her. She beat the spear to her chest in her raw surge of victory as she bellowed her prowess and survival to the very skies and to the Great Frost Mother below._

 _Then, like a switch had suddenly been thrown, she set to work, using her ulu to remove the choicest parts of the shark: the head, the tail and fins, and the guts. All of the things she would prefer to keep for how useful the teeth were for tools, the fins for soup, and the guts for binding. Everything had a use above and beyond the meat itself— but she was not going to bring those parts back home. This was her first great hunt. The first hunt's very best pieces always went to the Great Frost Mother._

 _No exceptions._

 _The pieces she was preparing to offer were— far more than merely heavy, and Hermione had to use her magic to lighten them, guiding them all into a neat pile on a nearby iceberg. She loaded it with the choice pieces that made her heart sad to see such a fine bounty "wasted" as a sacrifice, but a part of her understood that this was the way it had to be._

 _Laufey would tell her that it was not a waste to pay respect to the gods, and a happy god always took care of its people. The divine would always give something great in return for an appropriate sacrifice, sometimes giving it even before the sacrifice was actually given, so paying respect where it was due was really not such hard a thing, after all._

 _Hermione smiled. Laufey tended to always be right. The jerk. He was so very much like Severus. Guiding her hand with patience, but never above teasing or ribbing her for some silly thing she did that didn't work, or at least didn't work out quite the way she had planned. He never asked her to do anything he wasn't fully certain that she could do, no matter how frustrated she got. And he always had that proudly smug smile whenever she proved him right. Every damn time._

 _He pushed her to learn all the languages of the Jötunn from Sigrunn. All of them. He pushed her to learn Asgardian, even enough she thought the language sounded like a bunch of arguing Portuguese who had at some point gotten it on with a random pastor yelling his Sunday sermon. To be fair, she liked the sound of Portuguese, but she wasn't fond of the yelling Sunday sermon aspect._

 _Not at all._

 _She really loved him. She had come to love all of her adopted people, save perhaps for Snorre, whom no one liked. Well, maybe his mother. Laufey said he was most likely going to be one of those "children" who didn't manage a successful great hunt until he was well into his thousands. Hermione couldn't even_ _ **imagine**_ _living that long and not getting a clue— then again, if your species counted time in eternities, well, what was a few thousand years amongst friends?_

 _Håkon had made the joke that Snorre had been dropped headfirst on the ice as a baby— his mother being quite new to the entire situation— and Snorre hadn't been right in the head ever since. Hermione wasn't quite sure if it had been a joke or the actual truth. Håkon was a treasure trove of great stories, but it was hard to tell which ones were just stories and which others were the truth. She had a feeling that Håkon himself wasn't always sure either. Håkon had at least succeeded in his great hunt and become a "man" or rather a hunter of the tribe. Snorre, well, not so much. Håkon complained that his family was friends with Snorre's and now that he was a hunter, that meant that eventually, if something happened to Snorre's father, Håkon's family would have to watch over Snorre when he went hunting. Hermione didn't think anyone really envied him that position._

 _By the time she had piled everything she needed up on the berg, Hermione shook herself out of her thoughts. She lit a small fire on the iceberg, dropped in a small pouch of incense, and bowed her head over her hands. "Great Frost Mother, this is my first kill. My first great beast. Please, accept this offering of the best of my hunt in gratitude for guiding my spear and keeping me safe in your loving embrace. You have given me a wonderful home. You have given me a new family. Please allow me to help them move to this place that they may live in safety again. All I ask is the meat, to take back to the tribe that they may eat and be full tonight, and a single tooth, that I might keep it to forever remember this day. All else, Great Frost Mother, is yours, as am I."_

 _Hermione took one tooth from the mouth of the giant shark, carved runes on it with her sabre-knife, and bound it with cord and put it around her neck. She walked off the berg, feeling it crack and strain to break free of the shore. Then, just as she stepped down, it broke off, and the berg drifted slowly off to sea._

" _ **Nnnnnnnnggggggggaaahhhhhhhhhh!"**_

 _The gigantic breach of the great seal-wolf whale broke through the very ice, its enormous mouth gaping wide as it took the entire berg, the shark, and a large mouthful of water into its maw. Hermione staggered backwards as the waves created by the great whale's breach threatened to sweep her off her feet and carry her out into the ocean._

 _But a huge warm hand scooped her up and cradled her to his chest._

 _Laufey._

 _The giant stared off into the water and back at her. Silently, he knelt down next to the remains of the shark, dipped his fingers into the blood, and drew them lightly across her face. "You have become a grown hunter on this day, Hermione. May no one ever doubt this. And if they do, I shall soundly beat them about the head with my club. My fierce, miniature hunter," he said fondly. "Living proof that size is not everything."_

" _And to think, you at first told Sigrunn to throw me back into the sea," Hermione said with a smile._

 _Laufey snorted. "I have since changed my opinion on size, along with a great many other things. Perhaps, instead, I shall throw Snorre into the sea instead."_

 _Hermione snorted._

" _Will you allow me to carry your hunt back to the tribe, Hermione?"_

 _Hermione nodded with a little relief. "Thank you."_

" _Save your magic for the morrow, my fierce miniature hunter," Laufey said. "Tonight, rest and celebrate that you have become a hunter and given respect to the Great Frost Mother."_

 _Hermione smiled and nodded as Tryggr head-bumped into her back, impatient to get moving. She hopped onto his back and strapped her spear and a few bundles of meat into the saddlebags. Laufey took the rest onto his shoulder and walked the way back to the tribe, the newest young hunter of the tribe clinging to the back of the frost-sabre as it bolted home._

* * *

 _By the time Hermione got back to the cave, she was so exhausted that she slept right through the festivities as the tribe dined on the spoils of her first great hunt. Sigrunn drove the rest of tribe away from the cave unless they were in dire straights and Tryggr did the rest by guarding her body from excited visitors. The token traditional offerings to a new hunter for the tribe were left in a neat pile just inside the cave entrance: sweetened frostberry jerky, a hunter's belt and pouches, whetstones, rune carvers, a carved sabertooth, and hunting clothes, altered so they would keep her warm in the frozen wastes instead of the more minimal clothes most Jötunn wore. There were other gifts as well, but the coming of age for a new hunter was a very big deal, and much like the gifts to the Great Frost Mother, gifts for the hunter were a gamble that in supporting the hunter, you supported yourself in that no one went hungry where there were many hunters to supply the tribe._

 _In succeeding in her great hunt, even though her main reason had been to seek the Great Mother's blessing for the move, she had proven herself an adult in the tribe. Her voice was equal at the council fire, and she was also free to be courted and to accept (not that that particular area had even been on her mind.) Laufey and Sigrunn had pulled her aside and explained the frost-sabres and the jellyfish some time ago, reminding Hermione about when her parents had tried to explain the birds and the bees to her when she was a budding teenager. It had been just as awkward amongst the Jötunn as it was with human parents._

 _But, the main thing Hermione learned was that Jötunn males experienced something like love at first sight when they imprinted on a female, and they would obsess over them until the mating was consummated unto pregnancy or the female rejected them formally. There was also the standard attraction and hormones, but once the Jötunn male found "the one" it was all over for any other relationships, no matter how close they had been. The male would be driven to impress and seek the approval of the female to the point where she would allow his touch of his markings to hers. If that happened, the chances of her rejection was much more slim as a bond would form between them— a whirlwind of memories shared and intimacy that drew them together in one intense bond that usually, but not always, led to consummation of a mating bond._

 _The female could still, however, refuse. If the hunter was a failure or she somehow doubted his ability to provide for her and a child, she could reject him by either invoking the name of the Great Mother as she spoke the words of the rite that dissolved the bond and released the male from his singular focus. It did not happen often, but it had occurred in situations where one female had more than one suitor imprinted on them or the hunter became ill or infirm in a way that the constant obsession threatened their life. Even rarer were the fickle females that waited for some sort of sign they wanted from a male before accepting him, and each female often had something different they looked for. Some were simply more specific than others. A good hunter was good, solid thing to look for. A hunter that brought back two whales, fourteen seals, and a frost sabre in one season was asking a lot._

 _Hermione had asked Laufey if the male could, in fact, choose to dissolve the obsession himself, and he said it was possible but not probable. It was the common belief that the Great Frost Mother was the one that set the imprint on the male to begin with, and the final test was the approval of the female, which he could either gain or lose depending on his prowess. The imprint prevented jealousy over "another male's female" and reduced inter-tribal violence, something they considered a gift from She Who Watched Over Them. The land was inhospitable enough, and preventable loss of life was all the more tragic._

 _-o-o-o-o-_

" _It's not like I'm ever going to be mated with one of the tribe, Håkon," Hermione had told him one day as they went out to ice fish together. "There is a little bit of a size difference that would make such a thing nigh impossible."_

 _Håkon shook his head at her and gave her that look that told her she needed to pay better attention to the stories around the fire at night. "Hermione, if you'd listened to the people talk, you'd know that if the bond is true, you'd become Jötunn like us. For real. That's why there are no half breeds amongst frost giants. The bond can only form and remain amongst the willing, and the Great Frost Mother gifts us that if we find our mate, they are changed that we can be together."_

" _You know I don't like listening to people talk," Hermione said. "How am I to know when they aren't just stories like you often make up to get a rise out of me?"_

 _Håkon snorted. "I would not make up stories about this. In fact, I hope when we are both hunters that I will find out I am driven to you."_

" _Don't be ridiculous," Hermione said._

" _I_ _ **am**_ _being true," Håkon said adamantly._

 _Hermione shook her head. "Fine, if, and only if we are both hunters and you are driven to me, then I will deal with it then."_

 _Håkon grinned cheekily. "It has to be you, Hermione. You fell on me from the skies. Surely that must mean something."_

" _Sometimes falling out of the sky on someone just means they fell out of the sky and landed on someone instead of something," Hermione protested._

 _Håkon shook his head and thrust a fishing pole into her hands._

" _Bet you I catch more ice fish than you today."_

" _Oh, you're on, boy," Hermione said, sticking out her tongue at him._

 _-o-o-o-o-_

 _Hermione woke and realised her entire body ached from head to toe. She tried to move and groaned as her body protested that it wasn't done healing from her shark-induced muscle spasms._

" _Here, rub this all over," Sigrunn said with a smile as she nudged her with a "small" tin of something._

 _Hermione took the tin, which was the size of a large Muggle pizza, and dipped her hand into the ointment. The moment it touched her skin she instantly felt better, and Hermione said a few blessings and thank yous to Sigrunn._

 _The elder Jötunn female smiled at her. "Tryggr has been trying to groom you to death in your sleep, which may have helped you sleep, but he went off to drive the ice-rats out of Knut's ice-caches."_

" _That explains why my hair is sticking straight up and to the side at the same time," Hermione muttered._

" _Your eight-legged friends wove you a silken sleeping bag," Sigrunn said with a chuckle. "Find them out on your hunt?"_

" _Yeah, they were trying to float out to sea without paddles," Hermione said. "I brought them to shore and they wanted to stay with me."_

" _I figured as much," Sigrunn replied. "They didn't swarm to attack me."_

" _As I understand, they only attack when you step on their babies," Hermione said._

" _Hrm, I suppose_ _**I**_ _wouldn't take being stepped on very well, myself, and if someone tried to step on my child, I'd probably be even less inclined to converse. It would help if we could actually see them before we stepped on them, as opposed to after we get the bite on our toes."_

 _Hermione pondered silently for a moment, her mind working to solve the puzzle. "Sigrunn, is there a colour you see very, very clearly in the snow?"_

 _Sigrunn tilted her head. She looked around and placed her hand on the cave painting on the wall. "This colour." She placed her hand on the wisps of the sky swirls. "It glows brightly, like our markings, only a different shade."_

 _Hermione frowned. "I only see a yellow-green."_

 _Sigrunn smiled. "One day, when you are mated, you will understand."_

" _Ugh, again with the mating!"_

 _Sigrunn grinned at her. "Hermione, eventually it will happen. You are a hunter of the tribe, and you will be a great one. I'm surprised Håkon isn't here, panting in the heat of the imprint, begging you to let him touch you and seal the bond."_

" _Stop it!" Hermione said, blushing furiously. "There is no way Håkon and I—_ _ **no!"**_

" _Do you not care for him?"_

" _Of course I care for him! It's just—"_

 _Sigrunn frowned. "What?"_

 _Hermione turned her head away. "He is meant for another."_

" _What? How can this?"_

" _He's been resisting it for months now," Hermione said. "It's why he's either hunting or with me. I know the signs, though he tries to hide it well. He's imprinted, Sigrunn, but not to me."_

 _Sigrunn sighed, placing a hand around Hermione in a hug. "I am sorry."_

 _Hermione shook her head. "He is a good friend. I didn't even think about it until I realised there wasn't even a chance."_

" _It means there is another out there for you, child," Sigrunn comforted. "It_ _ **will**_ _happen. Some poor male is going to see you and everything they know is going to be thrown into the icy sea in favour of you."_

 _Hermione snorted. "You're such a romantic."_

 _Sigrunn smiled._

 _Hermione perks. "I got it! Hey little ones, where did you go?"_

 _Small fluffy spiders scurried out of the cracks in the cave wall. "Need us?"_

" _How would you like to stand out to the Jötunn so they know not to step on you?"_

" _Ooo!"_

" _We like that!"_

" _Being stepped on hurts."_

" _Being stepped on makes mummy cranky!"_

" _Will it hurt?"_

 _Hermione shook her head. "No, it shouldn't hurt at all."_

 _The baby spiders surged out of the cracks in the walls and crawled into her lap._

 _Hermione took out her wand and closed her eyes, making a movement over them as she formed in her mind exactly what she wanted. Sigrunn let out a gasp._

" _I can see them!" Sigrunn said with a laugh of relief. "I can really, really see them now!"_

" _To me they look the same, but now the Jötunn will be able to see you and avoid stepping on you," Hermione said. "But please, my friends, try not to be underfoot. It wouldn't be fair for them to try and not step on you if you were everywhere."_

 _The clutter of spiders waved their legs. "Okay! We'll try!"_

 _Hermione cast her hand over them, and they rubbed up against her with a sound much like a purr and coo. The mother spider gently wrapped her legs around Hermione's fingers in a more dignified thank you._

" _We'll be moving tonight," Hermione said. "Don't get lost."_

" _We won't!" the spiderlings said, scurrying back into the cracks as some of them rode on their mother's back as she headed towards a larger crack in the cave wall._

" _Laufey told me of your plan, child," Sigrunn said quietly. She looked over to the back of the cave where the elders were sleeping. "I am glad you found a way so he doesn't have to fight the king."_

 _Hermione nodded. "I should go talk to him. Even I can hear the water moving under the ice. We cannot afford to wait much longer."_

 _Sigrunn nodded. "The tribe gifted you hunters leathers as well as other tools. You should put them on before you go out."_

 _Hermione hugged Sigrunn's arm. "Thanks, mum."_

 _Sigrunn smiled at her warmly. "Go, get dressed, before the tribe thinks you ungrateful."_

 _Hermione gave her a cheeky smile and fetched the pile of clothes at the front of the cave, disappearing behind the dressing blind she had set up so the elders didn't have to see her fumble with dressing herself. Jötunn tended to be quite blasé to dressing in front of each other, but Hermione still had a few human "scruples" left that she clung to fiercely. They were slowly being eroded by her assimilation into the tribe, but at least for now, she had a few._

* * *

 _As the moon hung high in the sky over the tribe's encampment, Hermione could hear the ice creaking ominously under her feet, and she wondered, had she been a upwards of ten meters high if she's be under the ice completely. She worried for her people's lives. Many of them were not warriors by trade. They were families, all, but most were led by hunters and fishermen, trappers, and crafterfolk. Survival was hard enough to worry about training for war. War was something they left to Útgarðr and the Jötunn who chose to live there behind their high walls and in their safe homes._

 _There were some warriors, defenders of the tribe, such as Laufey, but you'd never have known it from how he interacted with the tribe. He hunted, fished, trapped, and crafted like the rest— a man of the people who took care of what mattered. And while he_ _ **did**_ _train Hermione in the ways of Jötunn weapons, she and Håkon being favoured sparring partners, it almost seemed like he was training them just in case something happened to him rather than for an immediate need for warriors._

 _As Hermione leaned on her spear, her breath coming in large clouds of fog, she closed her eyes and sensed all the Portkeys she had chained together with a specific area of effect. Each house, including the ice beneath them, would be going together, and after careful, meticulous planning, they would all arrive in exactly the same formation in the new place._

 _A safe place._

 _Hermione had finally found something she truly believed in, and while she had not found that in the Wizarding world, nor the war solely out of blind dedication, she had to admit that she had felt far more adamant about the freeing of the house-elves rather than the fight against Voldemort. She knew Voldemort had to be stopped, but that was more of a logical decision and a frank necessity. She wanted to be able to protect her friends and her family. Voldemort wanted them all dead. So simply remove Voldemort from the equation. Friends and family were no longer in dire danger of maiming and death. Eminently logical._

 _Harry had a quest. Harry needed help. She could offer him help. Harry would live longer with help. Hermione helped Harry. Harry wins. Voldemort dies. Friends and family were no longer in danger of maiming and death. Win._

 _In her head, it was all perfectly logical._

 _Yet, here, for the first time in her strangely extended life, she felt driven to protect her people. Adopted or no, she knew their struggles, their everyday fears, their joys, their celebrations of life, however small or had accepted her, their strange child that literally never grew up. And Hermione felt more akin to these people than ever she had in the Muggle or Wizarding world._

 _It was personal. All of their lives were bound to hers. She felt it in her very bones._

 _Tryggr pressed his muzzle into her hand, and she wrapped her arm around his neck, having to stand on her tippy toes to do so due to his substantially increased size._

" _You're getting huge," Hermione complained. "Soon I'm going to be like a flea upon your back."_

 _Tryggr whuffled her face, tickling her with his long whiskers._

 _The spider brigade had fastened itself around her neck like a scarf, linking their plush, fuzzy bodies together to both keep her warm and themselves from being blown away in the wind._

" _Hermione?" Håkon said, huffing as he approached in a hurry. "Everyone is in position."_

 _Hermione opened her eyes, her gaze seemingly far away. Golden grains seemd to pass across her eyes. "Are you ready, Håkon?"_

" _Ready as ever," he said._

 _Hermione slammed her spear down into the ground with a crack, the runes glowed a bright blue. Håkon did the same, and a beam of magic linked them. Another further away, held by one of Laufey's trusted joined the link. Another. And Another until all it joined back up with Hermione's spear._

" _Great Frost Mother, hear my prayer," Hermione said, her voice floating and far from her body. "Guide my steps that I may travel in safety across the ice and snow. Guide my spear that none may suffer long. Lend me the strength to move mountains that my people may live."_

 _Around her, the Jötunn said said their own prayers to the Great Frost Mother, their voices blending into the frozen wind and the rushing of the water below the ice._

 _ **Crack.**_

 _ **Crack!**_

 _ **CRACK!**_

 _Giant cracks in the ice spread rapidly across the frozen ground._

 _Hermione called the magic to her, sensing every port-key in the chain— she triggered them all at once with a blast of magic, channeled through the core of her in a flare of electromagnetic colour._

 _ **FWOOOOOOOMMMM!**_

 _The ice heaved and cracked as the great sea-wolf whale breached through the broken ice, its great maw open to devour anything and all that remained on the surface. Its great tail thrashed, slamming into the unbroken ice, shattering it to pieces._

 _But there was nothing left to be destroyed. The entire encampment, every shelter and family, elder, and beast— all were gone save for the pristine carcass of a fattened seal left upon the ice where Hermione had once stood._

 _The jaws of the whale crashed down upon the offering as the great sea-wolf whale disappeared back into the deep, frigid sea._

* * *

 _As the entire encampment transported itself at once, Håkon boggled at the raw power that the smallest hunter had summoned. It was if the mighty hand of the Great Frost Mother had swooped down and moved the entire tribe's settlement in one great scoop, and perhaps he was not so far off from the truth. Every home, every person, and even the sleeping village beasts were still where they had been. The night lanterns hung exactly where they had been._

 _Everything— everything was perfectly in place._

 _Even the healer's cave had been merged flawlessly into the cliffs with perfect precision._

 _Thud._

 _Håkon turned around to see Hermione had fallen, her skin as pale as the snow she lay upon and almost blue with the cold— and Håkon knew blue was not the right colour for her— not out here. Not now._

" _No," he groaned, running toward her. He scooped her up in his hands, pressing her close to his body. Long had it been since she and he were the same size. Now, he was an adult, but his caring for her had never abated. When his traitorous body told him that his mate was not her, he fought it. He drove himself out into the wastes to hunt rather than face the fact that the one he had always wanted was not meant for him._

 _Didn't the Great Frost Mother understand?_

 _Without the bond to one of his people, Hermione would always be alone— She would never see the colours of the frozen wastes as they did. She would always have to wear a hundred layers of fur to stay warm in a land that should embrace her as one of its own._

 _She of all people—_

 _She_ _ **deserved**_ _to be one with Jötunheimr._

 _Especially now that she had channeled the divine power of the Great Frost Mother herself. Truly she was the chosen of Jötunheimr. Why wouldn't the Great Frost Mother chose one of them to imprint upon her? Why did he have to be imprinted on someone else? Even now, the drive to go to her burned from within, but he resisted. He resisted because that female had never once given him a kind word or even a lick of interest. Why should he succumb to the madness for Gunnvor who even after becoming a hunter sat on the ice floes spearing ice-fish instead of hunting the larger prey._

 _Yet he wanted her, that Gunnvor._

 _Oh, how he wanted her._

 _It didn't make sense!_

 _Håkon hurriedly carried Hermione to the relocated healer's cave._

 _Laufey was running up behind him. "What's wrong?"_

" _She just collapsed!" Håkon said, very gently patting an unconscious Hermione's cheeks.._

 _Tryggr bounded in behind them, mrrowling and beginning to pace worriedly._

" _ **She needs rest!"**_ _Sigrunn yelled, snatching Hermione up into her arms and tucking her into her silken sleeping bag. The entire clutter of baby spiders and one extra-fluffy momma spider quickly filled any empty spaces in the bag to help keep her warm as Tryggr lay down close beside her, wrapping her in his huge paws and drawing her close to his warm body. The healer propped Hermione up just long enough to pour some cooled broth down her throat, chew some food and pass it to her, and then let her sleep it off as the two panicked males just stared helplessly at her._

 _Sigrunn grunted at them, throwing up her hands in exasperation. "She just moved an entire village, shelters and all. She's probably going to need to sleep it off for a month after channeling all that through such a tiny body!"_

 _Laufey and Håkon sank to the ground and sat, visibly relieved._

" _Oh, okay," they said together, promptly leaning back against the wall._

" _Thank goodness."_

 _Sigrunn shook her head. "Males."_

* * *

" _I am Bör Burison, king of Ásgarðr, and you_ _ **will**_ _bow to me," the bearded Asgardian yelled across the snows as he pursued a young Jötunheimr beast that was fleeing for its very life. The shaggy red curls of the man's mane of hair were barely contained by his ram's horn helm upon his head. His light brown eyes were ablaze with fury._

 _Standing so tall and proud despite being in the land of the mighty Jötunn— refusing to bow before the fierce elements anymore than he would to the giants themselves._

 _The children were fleeing past her, back to the safety of their village._

 _Hermione scowled. It was the village he would never find, for she had woven the same untraceable, unmappable magic that had protected both Hogwarts and Grimmauld Place— only she had anchored it the churning fury of Jötunheimr itself— the land that never slept. She clenched her fist on her spear._

" _Beast killer," Hermione hissed. "Terrifier of children," she accused. "You tread so heavily that even the whales can find you from under the deep ice. Leave this place. There is nothing for you here."_

" _You even speak like one of them," Bör accused. "But you are not one of them. Are you a slave to them? Did they tell you no others like you exist?"_

" _This is my_ _ **home**_ _, Bör Burison," Hermione said, stamping her spear down to the snow. "And you have not been invited to this place, nor are you welcome here."_

" _I need no invitation to walk Jötunheimr, little wench," Bör snorted. "I am a king and a god!"_

" _You are no king to me," Hermione snorted, the runes on her spear beginning to glow in the snowy twilight._

" _You will bow to me by the time I am done with you, girl," Bör said. "I give you one last chance to bow, and I will take you from this frozen wasteland. Or, I can lay waste these people who have obviously brainwashed you, starting with you."_

" _She will not bow to you, Bör Burison," Sigrunn said, standing beside Hermione. "She stands with us of her own free will, unlike the Asgardians who believe all should be made to bow to them. We bow only to the will of the Great Frost Mother, the very land of Jötunheimr."_

 _Other Jötunn began to gather around the glacier, their spears held beside them as they glowered down at the Asgardian interloper._

" _Leave him to the snows," Hermione said, "and let the Great Frost Mother test this_ god's _mettle."_

 _The winds were kicking up, blinding the field of view with swirling snow. Only the red, glowing eyes of the Jötunn showed through the blur of ice and snow._

 _The Jötunn wrinkled their noses in distaste and turned their back on King Bör._

" _What? You listen to a puny female who cannot even grow?" a voice bellowed in the snow. "I say we crush this Asgardian! Why do you listen to some small runt who cannot even stand in the weather without clothes? She is just like HIM!" Snorre stepped out of the swirling snow, his face twisted in disgust. "An invader that Sigrunn thought to small and cute to throw back into the sea!"_

" _That is enough, Snorre!" Laufey snarled. "You have not even succeeded in hunting an ice-fish and you dare challenge one who has succeeded in her great hunt?"_

" _She is a little sorceress, not a hunter," Snorre argued. "She could not even carry a hunt back herself!"_

" _ **ENOUGH!"**_ _Laufey roared, the runes on his warclub glowing in the snow. "Let me remind you again where you stand."_

" _No, he is right," another voice said, and this time the gathered Jötunn, including Laufey, balked in disbelief as the Jötunn king stepped out into the snows. "Every since this puny whelp of a female has come to us, disaster has come in its wake. Snorre's father dies hunting seal—"_

" _How was that_ _ **HER**_ _fault?" one of the giants boomed._

" _The seals have become harder to find—"_

" _The seals move where the ice is thicker to protect them from whales!"_

" _The very solid ice beneath our village melted to swallow us whole—" he bellowed in return._

" _The floes have always shifted! We were supposed to move many moons ago!"_

" _She used_ _ **SORCERY**_ _to move our home!"_

" _With the goddess' blessing!"_

" _There_ _ **IS NO GODDESS!**_ " _the king roared. "There are only those smart enough to live and those who die stupid!" the king thumped his warclub down, runes glowing. "Now we will smash this Asgardian into the ice and cast his body into the sea, where all puny bodies belong." He stormed toward Bör, his club raised._

" _No, my king!" Sigrunn stepped in front of him. Despite his being king, Sigrunn was taller— and had she had the gumption, would have easily pound him into the snows. "Please, do not bring war to Jötunheimr."_

" _Get out of my way, Sigrunn," the king snarled. "It is because of you and your stupid love for a foreign runt that prevented us from going back to Útgarðr where we belong!"_

 _Angry murmurs went through the gathered Jötunn._

" _What?" Sigrunn gasped. "You purposely kept us at camp so it would fall into the sea?"_

" _And the survivors would have followed me back to Útgarðr," the king bit out coldly. "Back where we belong."_

" _I don't believe you! There were elders! Children!" Sigrunn yelled, visibly furious._

" _Replaceable," the king snapped. "Just like your runt. Just like you." He raised his club to take a swing at Sigrunn._

 _ **SHIRRRRRKKKKK!**_

 _Sigrunn and the king fell to the snows, crimson freezing in pools on top of the ice, Bör's spear plunged through Sigrunn's back and right into the king's heart._

" _ **NO!"**_ _Hermione screamed._ " _ **LOCOMOTOR MORTIS! STUPEFY! PETRIFICUS TOTALUS! INCARCEROUS!"**_ _she screeched in quick succession._

 _Bör's body went crashing to the ground, backwards, stiff and bound._

 _Hermione went to Sigrunn's side, slicing through the spear with a spell to free from the the now-dead king. "Mother._ _**MOTHER!"**_ _she cried. Blood was trickling from Sigrunn's mouth and gushing from her chest. Hermione's hands glowed as she tried to channel her magic into the Jötunn female's body._

 _Sigrunn's hand pulled Hermione to her and pinned her to her side. "No, my child. My time is done."_

" _No! No! You're—"_

 _Sigrunn smiled at her. "You are my daughter in all but blood, Hermione. Heal our people. You are ready. It is time."_

 _Hermione cried, her tears streaming down her cheeks as she clung to Sigrunn's fur stole._

" _I go to the embrace of the Great Frost Mother, Hermione. I will always be there to watch over you." Sigrunn coughed up blood, her hand tightening around Hermione. "You are mine, Hermione. Hermione, daughter of Sigrunn. Do not make war on Ásgarðr once Bör is dead. Heal our people, daughter of my heart. Guide the hand of our new king. He will need your wise counsel when all is done."_

 _Sigrunn's hand enveloped Hermione. "You are Jötunn. Let no one tell you otherwise._

" _I love you!" Hermione wept into her mother's fur stole, clinging to it._

" _Oh, my little love," Sigrunn chided. "I love you more." With one final, ragged breath, Sigrunn was gone._

 _Hermione get out a howling wail that transformed into a snarl of pure, untethered hatred. She stood from the corpse of her dead mother, her eyes bloodshot red with her tears as they glowed with the fire of her pain. She stormed over to the bound body of Bör, lifting her spear high as the runes glowed fiercely in the haze of the snow._

" _You deserve to die," she said coldly, her very blood and bones crying out for vengeance. "But my mother does not wish me to make war on Ásgarðr for your death. And you may thank her spirit for your life as you leave Jötunheimr. Get. Out."_

 _Hermione released him from her spells and turned away, walking straight into Laufey, who pulled her into his embrace as she burst into tears._

 _Bör, humiliated and angry, pulled a dagger from its sheath and pulled it back, throwing it—_

"Carnes nix aeternam _," Hermione snapped, her eyes flashing gold in the gloom of the snows._

 _Bör, frozen in place, turned to snow, blowing away in the frigid wind. His dagger, frozen in mid-flight, clattered harmlessly to the ground._

 _Laufey, staring at the place where Bör had once stood, clutched Hermione even more tightly as she sobbed out her grief._

* * *

Loki touched Hermione's cheek, his thumbs brushing gently against her soft skin. His breaths came in heavy pants as his mind struggled to process the flood of memories. Her eyes stared into his, and he realised she had seen into his past— just as he had seen into hers. Was it enough to soften her regard for a foreign male who looked as Jötunn, but who knew even less than she did?

He'd seen enough to know that this petite healer was Jötunn. She may not have the skin and the eyes, the stature or the genetics, but she was frost giant, through and through, and he had known nothing at all about them. Not even one story he had been told had gone as he had been told. Not of the truth of Bör— nor the truth of the war. _Nothing_.

Touching her relieved the aching, driving need inside him, and his head cleared a little, provided he was touching her in some way. Whatever this bonding process was, and Ásgarðr clearly knew nothing of it, it seemed to be giving pieces of their lives to the other to fill in the blanks of each other's life, sharing the core of what had gone into the other's life.

He hoped she didn't get the memory of himself and Thor running naked covered only in flour throughout the palace halls.

Hermione snorted in amusement.

Why couldn't she have shared the memory of Thor humping the bedpost calling out Sif's name instead? That was at least amusing and didn't involve _HIM_.

Hermione chortled, staring at him with laughter in her eyes.

Oh _no_. She could read his thoughts!

"If I said I truly wanted you and only you, would you believe me _now_?" Loki asked, trying very hard to think of his mother's favourite fountain, filled with her flesh-eating Pira fish. Only the Pira all had Hermione's face, and he really wanted to pick one up and cuddle with it. Oh, _fuck_. He was freaking done for.

For a moment, just as a thought escaped of what it would be like to run his tongue along her skin, he caught a glimpse of her pondering what it would be like to feel his mouth on her breast.

Oh… really?

Hermione flushed.

Loki pressed his forehead to hers, a low resonating growl in his throat. "Hrrrmione," he said her name as he ached for her, more now that he had managed to get a crash course in her life and what made her even more alluring. Apparently learning about him had done the same to her, wearing down her resistance to him like waves against the the rock.

His biology told him with no uncertain terms that she was the one, the only, the very reason he was put into existence, but his mind— his mind struggled for consent lest he go down on her like a heathen beast who cared not for her feelings— not that he wouldn't devolved and go there anyway after consent.

Loki's eyes widened as his own thoughts appalled him. Hermione's pupils went wide, nostrils flaring, breath coming in pants. Yet she still resisted him. She still turned her face away, refusing to look him in the eye and make that last step into the Abyss. Why?

And then the answer came with a flood of disjointed memories.

* * *

" _Filthy Mudblood."_

* * *

" _You're a bloody ice queen aren't you, Hermione."_

* * *

 _Clumsy groping in the dark._

 _Painful grabbing of her breasts._

" _Come on, Hermione. Live a little."_

 _Not like Viktor. Not one bit._

* * *

" _You tell me, da? Tell me if you… not like it."_

" _It's okay," Hermione whispered._

 _Viktor's black eyes were warm, despite their colour. "Safe to touch here, nothing I cannot handle. Touch lower, it harder to control. If you want to be safe, is okay. Understand, ok?"_

 _Hermione nodded nervously._

 _Viktor's warm breath tickled her neck as his hand touched her belly as he whispered something in Bulgarian. A strange tickle fluttered in her abdomen. "No obligation. Say no, if you mean no."_

 _Hermione smiled at him._

" _Now, if you want to drive man mad, put hand here. Mouth here," Viktor guided her hand lower and her mouth to his neck. "Practice do same time-AH! Like that."_

 _Hermione giggled a little, flushing._

 _He panted a little, his teeth fastened on her neck as his hand roamed her body, gently caressing her breasts and moving lower until her legs spread by by themselves, seeking his touch without even knowing it. He placed a kiss on her mouth, moving in to seek her tongue, coaxing it out to play. Hermione moaned slightly, and he moved her down onto the furs he had enchanted._

 _By the time he had finally entered her, she was more than ready— eager, even. There was very little pain, and even that was driven away by his warm embrace and hot passion. He muffled her scream with his mouth, laughing softly as she clawed at his back with a ferocity she hadn't known was in her._

 _They had coupled many times, each just as passionate, yet he never once pressed her further than she wanted to go, but thanks to his gentleness and compassion, she trusted him. He was kind, generous lover, and she was glad it was him that had been there for her._

* * *

" _You really are just a frigid little bint of a bookworm," Ron snarled at her, his red face wrinkling in disgust. "I bet you wouldn't even know what to do with real cock if you saw one, not that you wouldn't just faint dead away if you did."_

* * *

" _Mudblood."_

* * *

" _You're a worthless know-it-all. What can you do other than spout useless book facts?"_

* * *

" _Come on, 'ermione! Tell me how your date with Viktor went! Did you get down to it?"_

" _Ginny!"_

" _Tell me, 'ermione! Is he hot? Is he bigger down there?"_

" _What kind of question is that!" Hermione squeaked, mortified._

" _Oh, come on! Tell me something, otherwise I'm just going to assume you dumped him and went out under the tree to read that stupid book of yours."_

" _It's none of your bloody business!" Hermione hissed furiously._

 _Ginny sighed. "Look, if you didn't really go out with him, just say so."_

 _Hermione gave Ginny a flabbergasted look. "I don't believe you." She stormed out of the Gryffindor common room and headed down to the library._

" _Well, did she shag him?" someone asked as the portrait hole closed._

" _Naw, she's still the bloody Virgin of Gryffindor," Ginny said sadly in reply._

* * *

" _Oh! Oh my god. Håkon! Can you just— cover yourself up!"_

 _Hermione threw him his loin cloth._

" _Hermione, why are you blushing?"_

" _Because you're— oh Merlin, Morgana, and Hecate!" a very red-faced Hermione hastily covered her eyes._

" _There is nothing here that you and everyone else hasn't already seen!" Håkon snorted._

" _How can you just be so… so… blasé about it!"_

" _Blu-what?" Håkon said, boggling at her odd word._

 _Hermione closed her eyes, switching back to Jötunn. "Blasé!"_

" _Oh, why didn't you just say that?"_

 _Hermione threw up her hands, then squeaked, covering her eyes again. "There are just some things I really don't want to know, okay?"_

 _Håkon tucked himself back into his loincloth and shook his head in amusement. "You have some pretty odd hangups, Hermione. The people in your former world must have been really stuck on themselves."_

" _I don't think that was the issue," Hermione said. "And if they were here, just whipping it out to take a piss might make vital parts fall off!"_

 _Håkon just rolled his eyes at her. "If you can't even stand the cold long enough to take a piss, how the hell do you take one? Soil your own cave? Disgusting."_

 _Hermione sighed. "Humans weren't exactly designed for living in subzero wastelands, Håkon."_

" _You're doing okay."_

" _I'm not exactly normal."_

" _Well, I for one, am glad you aren't," Håkon said. "I cannot imagine having pieces of you falling off every time you go outside."_

" _Håkon!"_

" _One day, when I am a hunter, and you are a hunter, I hope you get over this strange fascination with covering yourself."_

" _Not likely, considering that it's bloody freezing out here for me."_

" _Under the right conditions, you may change your mind."_

" _What the_ _ **hell**_ _are you talking about, Håkon?"_

 _Laufey rapped Håkon soundly upside the head. "You. Go hunt for your mother."_

" _Yes, Laufey," Håkon grumbled, shuffling off._

 _Laufey sat down beside Hermione, sighing. "I think it's time for you and I to have that awkward talk. The one I had when my father grabbed me by the belt. dragged me off to the ice floes and threatened to drown me unless I listened to him."_

 _Hermione eyed Laufey. "That sounds… comforting."_

 _Laufey snorted. "Håkon is getting older— old enough that he may succeed in his first great hunt and not get himself killed, unlike Snorre."_

" _I don't think Snorre is ever going to get anything more than a great ice-fish," Hermione muttered._

 _Laufey shook his head, rubbing his temples. "Anyway, there are some things you really need to know, especially since you've been around long enough to grow up as most of us would, or, well— become hunters. Males of our species—fixate."_

" _You mean like Steinar and his rock collection?"_

" _No, he's just odd," Laufey snorted. "I mean— Great Frost Mother— we imprint on a female that is to be our mate or, well, the one that the Great Frost Mother believes would be our ideal mate. Once it hits there is nothing more alluring and more perfect to us than she is. We are utterly driven to claim her, prove ourselves to her, and, with any luck, we will start touching skin-to-skin. IF she allows that, those first touches initiate the forming of a bond. Shared memories, emotions, life— and the female can either accept us or deny us depending on how great or awful we were at the proving part. Then we spend about a week in seclusion making sure there is a child on the way and come out married."_

 _Hermione stared at him with wide eyes. "No ceremony, just— married?"_

" _Well it's not like anyone is going to doubt we're mates at that point—" Laufey said rather awkwardly. "It's a very intimate process, and the female is vulnerable. We get a little possessive and growly about protecting her, erm, from anything that might break the bond in its infancy."_

 _Hermione was silent for several moments. "Um, not that I don't appreciate the lesson, but, why are you telling_ _ **me**_ _this, Laufey?"_

 _Laufey sighed. "Because Håkon may be a hunter soon, and when he is— he may suffer from the imprint. The one he imprints on might well be… you."_

" _ **WHAT?"**_ _Hermione screeched. "Have you not_ _ **seen**_ _the slight difference in size that would make such activities basically impossible?!"_

 _Laufey thumped his head against his hands. "The Great Frost Mother gave our people a very special gift. When we find the one we wish to make our mate, and she is willing to accept the bond, at some point during the bonding process, she undergoes— or he, depending… anyway— they go through a change in which they turn into a Jötunn, specifically a frost giant. If they weren't already one of us in the first place, of course. Ahem. Pregnancy seals the change and makes it permanent." Laufey shifted uncomfortably. "I'm telling you this to prepare you, just in case— Eventually, Hermione, there will be hunter who looks upon you and is instantly smitten, body and soul. He will not be able to think of anyone else_ _ **but**_ _you. I want you to be prepared, but not afraid, when it does happen. And I have no doubt that it will. I don't want you to think that the Great Frost Mother is some kind of sadist, Hermione."_

 _Hermione was silent. "Well, at least she thinks ahead?"_

 _Laufey snorted. "Are we good now? Can we go back to talking about seals and grunting about 101 ways Snorre might meet his end before his thousandth birthday?"_

 _Hermione laughed. "Of course."_

" _Thank the Great Frost Mother," Laufey said with feeling, throwing down a plump seal in front of Hermione. "That's for your mother."_

 _Hermione grinned, pulling out her ulu. "I know just how she likes it."_

* * *

Loki looked into Hermione's eyes, his crimson eyes glowing as he placed a finger under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. The vision of her awkward conversation with the one known as Laufey gave him some insight on his obsession with her. It was a relief to know that he wasn't going mad— well, any more mad than was expected— over a female. Asgardians most definitely did not have this imprinting thing going on, but then again— Asgardians didn't make Asgardians out of their mates, either. Hell, they had problems even figuring out who their mates were, provided they weren't part of an arranged marriage.

"It's _you_ that I want," Loki insisted, holding her gaze with his. "More than anything. I can feel it in my very bones. Please, do not judge me solely on where I was raised or believe that I might judge you wrongly based on some strange notion of having dirt in your blood. You've seen my past too. How I never truly fit in." He brushed her hair away from her face and pressed his mouth to the skin near her earlobe. He let out a heated breath, his eyes practically rolling back into his head as his cheek lightly grazed hers. "Will you have me, Hermione?"

Loki, suddenly remembering something he had heard in her memories, whispered into her ear in Jötunn, "If I am not sincere, may the Great Frost Mother swallow me whole where I stand."

Hermione shuddered against him, her hands pressed against his face as her fingers traced the runic circles on his forehead. Her eyes closed as she ran her fingers down every curve. "Yes," she whispered at last.

Loki's response was utterly primal, and he descended upon her at once. His back arched, muscles rippling as though they would split and some other creature would burst forth. His runic markings glowed brightly as he attached his mouth to her neck as his hands slid down her body. His ruby eyes glowed in the darkness of the cave as he clamped down on her skin, his hand moving between her legs. The moment he found the spot he was looking for, she arched into him with an almost-scream. Her legs parted, back arched, and neck flexed.

He growled deeper, biting down harder as he moved his fingers between her legs, giving her the delicious friction that she craved. She trembled against him, her body going through spasms, and he pressed his body flush against her, reveling in the heady feel of her against his skin. She was whimpering, crying— her voice heavy and needy. Glowing runes started to trail down from where he was biting her, moving across skin like the writhing of snakes. She was convulsing against him, and he held her tightly, keeping that essential skin-to-skin contact that he knew they both needed. Blue was spreading down her neck and up her face, consuming and transforming it. At first, it was but a light blue, but as it spread, it became darker and more concentrated. Bright glowing patterns spread across her skin even is brighter ones raised up as the runic markings wove themselves over her skin like a tapestry.

Hermione was panting, her hips grinding herself into his hand, and he found that somehow he had lost his trousers and his pants. With a wicked smile, he positioned himself and instantly buried himself within her. She screamed, her body arching, her nails dragging down his back. He thrust himself into her again and again, finding her desperate rhythm and matching it, knowing that there would be no lasting— she was calling out for him, and he could only obey.

He looked into her half-lidded eyes as she gazed up into his. With each insistent thrust, the crimson light within grew ever stronger, setting her eyes on fire with the glow of twin red suns.

" _Mine_ ," he managed to say, bringing her to the edge as he struggled to hold on, fighting back his own imminent release.

" _Yours_ ," she agreed, moaning raggedly. Thousands of tiny starlike markings glowed on her skin, arranging themselves like the constellations from some unknown, alien world.

He thrust strongly one final time and felt himself give way, but her body clamped around him simultaneously. Loki let out a loud cry of almost agonising rapture as he suddenly saw stars. His arms went around her, clamping her tightly to him as their bodies merged into one— body and soul. Hermione's body thrashed wildly, her legs kicking out as the wave of cobalt pigment tore through her triumphantly, signalling the beginning of deeper, unseen changes within. The cascading wave of shared pleasure rippled through their bodies, and they collapsed in a panting, boneless heap even as the sweet oblivion of the bonding sleep dragged them both under together.

* * *

Down in the village, King Laufey tilted his head and smiled. "Mmm, finally."

Håkon just shook his head. "Lucky bastard," he muttered.

Laufey shoved Håkon off his seat. "Håkon, you need to go find that female of yours, walk up behind her, and give her a hug. Preferably whilst naked and carrying a large seal carcass."

Håkon slumped.

" _ **NOW!"**_ Laufey bellowed.

"Yes, my king!" Håkon spluttered, grabbing his spear and heading out to the icy wastes.

Laufey shook his head. "I swear if we didn't spell it out for them, some hunters wouldn't know what to do with a female, even if she bit him on the face."

Magnus passed Laufey a smoked fish. "Maybe he needs some of that," Magnus suggested.

" _ **You**_ didn't require any coddling to figure it all out," Laufey snorted.

"Neither did Hermione," Magnus said with a mischievous wink.

"She always was the bright one," Laufey noted fondly.

"Ach," Magnus sighed. "Håkon has been in love with Hermione ever since the day she fell on him. It must be hard for him to comes to terms with the Great Frost Mother's choice to not pair them together."

Laufey poked the smoking fire with a stick and grunted. "Give them a week to seal the bond and we can figure out who our new friend is and why he arrived so very… short."

"Seems the perfect size to start for Hermione," Magnus observed.

"Not that I doubt her ferocity, Magnus, but I really would like to be able to hug her properly with my arms and not just my hand."

"You're not the only one, my king," Magnus chuckled. "We have many elders in the sidelines, just waiting to pounce her the moment she 'mates with a fine young specimen of Jötunn manhood'."

"Are they taking bets on their children yet?"

"Always," Magnus said with a shake of his head.

"What's the best bet?"

Magnus smiled. "Female first, born runty but beats the males in everything but the pissing contests."

"Harumph," Laufey said with a sniff.

"You have another idea, my king?" Magnus asked.

"Firstborn male, second-born female. Full-sized to term," Laufey predicted.

"Really? Twins on the first go?" Magnus looked rather dubious. "She's a tiny little thing. That's a lot to ask, even for the fierce hunter she is."

Laufey snorted. "The Great Frost Mother may surprise you yet, Magnus."

"Oh, don't pull that elder cryptic stuff on me, my king," Magnus snorted. "One day someone is going to guess right and it won't be you."

"There _**is**_ a reason I'm king," Laufey pointed out, smirking.

"No one else wants the job?" Magnus muttered.

Laufey just rolled his eyes. "Don't you have a mate to impregnate?"

Magnus sighed. "She's out teaching Gunnolf how to fish."

"Still hasn't figured it out?"

"Still gets tangled up in the net."

"Him or the fish?"

"Yes."

"Well, at least it's not your mate anymore."

"Erm…"

"Go out there and teach your son how to fish, you lazy sod," Laufey said, pushing Magnus off his seat too. "Before he tries to catch a seal and ends up in the ocean!"

Magnus grumbled. "Yes, my king," he said, taking up his spear and shuffling off into the wastes.

Laufey shook his head slowly. "Kids."

* * *

"What do you _**mean**_ you knew?!" Ron yelled at Harry.

"Of course I knew! You don't think I'd just randomly come in and offer someone my invisibility cloak for no reason do you?" Harry yelled back.

"She was going back to save fucking _**SNAPE!"**_ Ron accused as if it was Harry's fault.

"On Dumbledore's orders, and you didn't see the memories, Ron. He wasn't the horrible selfish jackass everyone thought he was!" Harry exclaimed. "Now you bloody tell me where the hell you sent Hermione!" Harry's face was red with anger. His wand hand trembled as he held it out, wand tightly gripped in his hand.

"You're going to point a wand— at me?" Ron spluttered in disbelief. "After all I've done to help you out?"

"I just watched you cast someone into a swirling vortex that looked like it opened up the sodding arctic, Ron. So excuse me if I'm more than a little leery about where you'd send _**me**_ if you get a twig stuck up your arse!" Harry yelled. "Hermione got permission from the Department of Mysteries to do this one last task. It was sanctioned!"

"Fred was far more important that that greasy git!" Ron blurted. "My mother is crying every day over him. George can barely get out of bed. You can't tell me that isn't more important than some greasy-haired wanker!"

"You want to know _**why**_ we won, Ron?" Harry hissed dangerously. "Because Professor Snape made sure we got the Sword of Gryffindor. He even led me to it with his Patronus. You want to know _**why**_ we survived? It was because of Hermione. You want to know _**why**_ Hermione was almost always prepared, no matter how stupid we were? It was because Snape taught her. McGonagall taught her! I saw the letter Dumbledore gave her. Dumbledore has had our backs since the beginning, and he had a request for her. She had a mission to do, and you— what the hell did you _**DO**_ , Ron?"

Ron crossed his arms petulantly. "That frigid minger is where she _**belongs**_."

Harry's face twisted in pure disbelief. "What the _**hell**_ , Ron? You wanted to marry her!

 **Crack!**

 **Crack!**

 **Crack!**

People dressed in pristine white robes and elaborate headdresses that covered their entire heads, a black blindfold across their eyes, and a distorted, grotesque plate of some sort across their mouths stood in a circle around Ron and Harry, their wands pointed squarely at Ron's heart.

 **Crack!**

Amelia Bones stepped out from behind the Unspeakables, her eyes dark and unreadable.

"By authority of the Department of Mysteries, you are under arrest for your willful corruption of time-altering magic without authorisation. Ronald Weasley, your specific magical signature was detected tampering with an unauthorised time stream stemming from this point," Amelia informed him.

Ron paled. "You're supposed to be _**dead!**_ "

Amelia's eyes narrowed. Her wand glowed brightly as she performed an intricate-looking sort of tracing spell.

The door opened as Bill and George pushed their way into the room.

"We have the papers for you, Hermione," Bill said. "George put together a care package to tide you over until you can merge back into our time— Amelia? What's going on?"

Amelia gestured to one of the white-clad unspeakables, who pointed a wand to their face and hissed some sort of incantation that sounded disturbingly like Parseltongue. The headdress fell away.

"Ronniekins done fucked up the plan, bro," Fred snarled, his freckled face scowling darkly.

Ron looked from Fred to his brothers, to Harry to Amelia, and from the Unspeakables to where Hermione had once stood.

There was a stumble at the door as Neville fell in, carrying a bulbous, toothy, irritated-looking plant with him. "Hey Hermione, I got the plant for you. It should neutralise any poison that you—uh, I _swear_ I didn't to it!" he squeaked to the Unspeakables.

Amelia Bones turned to a shockingly pale Ronald Weasley. "You have a great deal of explaining to do, Mr Weasley.

* * *

Loki's eyes opened slowly, and he felt a strange lethargy in his body. He stretched out his legs experimentally and frowned as his feet touched the cave wall. He pulled Hermione close to him, smiling as she pressed into his body in her sleep, seeking out his touch. Her beautiful cobalt skin shimmered with glowing patterns and runic raised markings like a tapestry. A light, silken blanket covered her, and Loki noticed the brightly coloured spiders moving about in Hermione's hair. Strange that they seemed— much smaller than usual.

Did the baby spiders have… babies?

As much as it grieved him, he decided he had to relieve himself, and he patted around for his pants and trousers only to find them— shrunken in miniature.

Loki eyed them. Normally _HE_ was the God of Mischief, and he didn't remember pranking himself. He eyed the spiders somewhat suspiciously. "Did you make me 'new' trousers?"

The multi-coloured spiders scattered about frantically and formed an arrow pointing toward—

Oh, _there_ were his pants and trousers.

"Thanks," Loki said, putting them on. Oddly, they felt so much more comfortable than before, new even.

He leaned in and kissed Hermione on the forehead, pushing himself off the sleeping furs and stumbled out the entrance to the cave. So intent was he on relieving his bladder, he didn't even notice the Jötunn sitting at the entrance to the cave, one hand soothing the ears of a giant frost-sabre as the other rubbed the belly of the Jötunheimr beast— at least until he turned around.

The Jötunn eyed him appraisingly, his spear cradled in the crook of his arm, and Loki recognised him immediately from Hermione's memories.

"King Laufey," Loki said, stunned.

Hermione's feelings for Laufey were strongly loyal and undeniably the love one would have for a close family member. Loki found he didn't feel threatened by him, nor did he have the drive to protect his mate from him, both of which gave no small amount of relief. Hermione's memories of him were clear. She was good with a spear. Great, even. But Laufey had taught her.

Laufey's eyes raked over him, and Loki could almost feel the burn of them grazing across his skin. Then the elder Jötunn's eyes widened. "I see you have readjusted to our climate and have returned to your proper size," Laufey said calmly. "There was some speculation on the cause of your unusually small stature."

Loki blinked. He looked down at himself and then over to Laufey, the gears in his mind working overtime as he looked around him for someone, some _thing_ familiar by which to judge his current size. But everything looked perfectly normal.

But _wait_. This was Jötunheimr. Everything was larger than life—

Frost giants were _huge_. That was a given. But if that was true, why did this King Laufey seem normal-sized? Just like himself?

A small smile tugged insistently at Laufey's lips. "Please allow me to help… put things in perspective." He stood up.

Loki found himself now able to look the king in the face.

The Jötunheimr beast regarded him, standing up and stretching lazily. Laufey rubbed the beast's head, and Loki began to put two and two together and got an irrational imaginary number.

" _ **How?"**_ Loki boggled.

"The snows and cold are our natural environment," Laufey said calmly. "We thrive here when all other humanoid species must cover every inch of their bodies and virtually hide themselves away. We, like the beasts that call this place home, are much larger than life when compared to the other realms. But, if we were to be in a warmer place, we would soon shrink down to size— our bodies being far too hot to sustain the size that protects us from the bitter cold, but not the heat. The other giants, they live in Útgarðr— hiding from the cold because they know if they were to come out here in the frozen wastes, they would shrink, their bodies responding to want of the warmth that we shun."

"But, I am Hermione's size," Loki protested.

Laufey chuckled. "No, young one. She is now the size of the rest of us at last. As it should be."

The frost-sabre, which Loki found slightly intimidating even with his new and improved size, gave a rumbling purr and bounded towards the cave flap and pounced inside. Hermione's voice exclaimed, " _ **AHHOOOF! Tryggr! ARGH!"**_

Tryggr dragged Hermione out like a freshly-caught prey animal, and Hermione wrestled with him, tumbling out the mouth of the cave in a sprawl of blue and white.

"Eeee!"

"Tilt!"

"Mayday!"

Multicoloured spiders clung desperately to Hermione's hair and neck, trying to maintain a scarflike formation.

Tryggr flopped himself on top of Hermione, pinning her down and licking her hair, ruffling it up into a strange sort of curly cowlick.

"Gah!" Hermione moaned. "A little help here?"

"I'm rather enjoying this," Laufey said, chuckling deeply and extending his hand to her.

Hermione huffed as she pulled herself up, mumbling. Then she froze. She touched Laufey's hand, staring as her hands surrounded his. She looked up into his face, the realisation she was no longer staring at his belt buckle in the way a normal Jötunn would look at his face. "Laufey?"

"Finally, your body matches the size of your heart, Hermione," Laufey said warmly, extending his arms to her. "May that I could but hug you at last with something more than my hand?"

Hermione gave a joyful cry and flung herself into Laufey's embrace, and the elder giant held her closely. He gave a great sigh of relief. Tryggr mrowled and shoved his huge head in-between them.

Hermione laughed, throwing her arms around the huge cat's neck. "I can ride you again!" she cried, hugging his neck tightly. She threw herself onto his back and the great sabre bolted across the floes with Hermione clinging to his back.

Loki had to stifle an immediate sense of longing as he watched the cat and his mate disappear off into the snows.

"She will return," Laufey said, immediately understanding the source of the younger male's distress. "She always does. And Tryggr, well, he'll always take excellent care of her. Just as Bjørn here does."

The Jötunheimr beast whufted, rolling on his back to get a belly rub.

"I will confess that he looks much cuter when my size is not fit to be crunched in his mouth," Loki said after a moment.

Laufey chuckled. "I would imagine that is no small amount of relief to you."

Loki looked skyward. "It may be."

Laufey sat down again, his face lined in concentration. "Loki… what do you remember of your past? What was told to you?"

"You know my name?"

"Everyone in the village knows your name… now," Laufey said, his garnet eyes sparkling with unmistakable amusement.

Loki realised what the elder giant meant and flushed a vivid purple. " _Oh_."

Loki sat down, shuffling his legs like a nervous teen facing his girlfriend's father for the very first time.

"I… only remember Ásgarðr. I grew up with Thor. We were brothers. I never quite fit in, so our mother— Frigga— taught me magic. I became quite good at it. Life was peaceful, but I was engaged to be married— the day I came here was the day before I would be wed to Lady Sigyn. Somehow— she knew what I did not. She called me a filthy Jötunn, a monster— a _freak_. She drove her dagger into my gut and pushed me into a whirlpool, probably thinking I'd drown, but it spat me out into the Bifröst, and the Bifröst brought me here."

"And what is your opinion of the Jötunn now?"

Loki looked down at his own hands. "Notably better than it was before," he admitted.

Laufey sighed. "Jötunn wear their families on their skin, young Loki. Relations are as simple as looking to the tapestry that Great Frost Mother gives us. You will notice that your mate has distinctive markings."

Loki's eyes widened. "They are like yours."

"No, Loki. She got her markings from _you_ ," Laufey said, letting that thought settle in.

Loki frowned, his face crinkling as he slowly digested that. "That means that I— you…"

Laufey closed his eyes, and looked out over towards the distant sea. "Shortly after the death of Sigrunn and the death of our previous king, war came to Jötunheimr, regardless of how much we might've wished otherwise. I'm sure you have some memories that your mate shared of that time— but what she never knew was that in the war that followed, my mate and our unborn son were buried in the rubble of the winter palace— the inherited abode of the previous king. The Asgardians leveled it, believing myself to be inside, but I had been out on the floes at the time, ensuring that our borders remained secure."

Laufey turned to Loki. "She perished. I felt her— go. I was… delirious, caught up in the madness of grief, of the death of our bond. I walked out into the frozen wastes and mourned for a great many moons, barely able to remember my name. Hermione found me there, literally forced food down my throat. Cleaned me up with her magic because I stank so badly. Had Bjørn drag me places because I wouldn't move. Then, in perhaps a year or a few years— I had not counted, nor had I cared, I finally came back to my senses again. Hermione had led our people in my absence. She kept them hidden— safe from those of Ásgarðr. She saved them, not with war, but with stealth. It was because of her that I even had people to come back to, and when I did, she returned the sabre-tooth of the king back around my neck and said not one further word about it."

"I thought— I had lost everything that day, Loki. I believed I had no family left. I realised that day, coming back to a village full of thriving people, that I had almost willed myself to death and left my daughter in all but blood alone, but she had never given up on _me_."

"And now, she is my daughter-in-law," Laufey said with no small amount of pride. "And I feel I must go and slaughter the fatted seal and leave it for the Great Frost Mother in thanks for not sending death to meet me before this wondrous revelation could come to pass."

Loki was silent, his brows furrowed in thought. "All-Father brought me back to Ásgarðr."

"And raised you as his son, I would guess," Laufey sighed. "I fear, had he not done so, you would have fared no better with me. I was not— _could_ not— function at the time."

Loki closed his eyes, struggling with a myriad number of emotions.

"I imagine, growing up in such a— warm— climate masked your true nature, and I— would also imagine that Odin would have preferred you never have known, lest you should think of yourself as you did the moment you discovered yourself to be Jötunn — a monster."

"Well-meaning or no, he knew that the general belief is that our kind are nothing more than heathens and barbarians— and in his heart, he may also believe us to the murderer of his father, Bör. But— if Odin did indeed carve you from your dead mother's womb to save your life, perhaps there _is_ hope for him to rise above his father's malice and wanton cruelty."

Loki snorted, coming to a realisation. "Perhaps this was better. Not in that I did not realise who I was or even _what—_ but that had I been taken in by you in such a bad state, I would have most likely been raised by Hermione, and that would have proved rather awkward."

Laufey laughed. "You are probably right. Or Håkon would be a very happy Jötunn." Laufey's expression turned serious. "Be assured, Loki. Once the mating bond is sealed, no Jötunn, not even Håkon, would dare to challenge you. That is not our way. Håkon's history with Hermione is quite long and compassionate. They would have perhaps been siblings in another life— or a very old couple arguing over the migration of seals."

Loki spluttered.

A bounding giant saber-cat screeched to a halt, panting heavily as Hermione jumped off his back. She hugged the great feline and ruffled his fur, earning herself an enthusiastic series of rough tongue baths. Multi-coloured spiders bounced up and down on his head.

"Yay!"

"Again!"

"That was fun!"

"Wheee!"

Hermione smiled tiredly, her legs shaking a little. Loki was there in an instant, his arm wrapped securely around her waist. She leaned on him, a tired yet serene smile on her face.

"The bond will take a few days to set unless you happen to be _extremely_ fertile," Laufey said with an amused, knowing smile. "Until then you must always remain near, preferably in physical contact, or the changes will begin to degrade. Here, in the heart of the people, it is less likely so, but in case you were thinking of traveling, I would postpone any such plans until later."

Loki touched Hermione's cheek. "Not likely."

"Well, let me give my new daughter-in-law a hug before you set yourself to work on my grandchildren, hrm?"

Hermione's eyes almost bulged out of her head. " _ **Wha—?"**_

"Look in a mirror, my daughter-in-law," Laufey chuckled. "We are related through my son. Long lost… and now found again."

Hermione stared at Loki and then back to Laufey, the gears turning in her head almost audibly only to grind to to a sudden halt with a screeching sound. She flung her arms around them both, hugging them tight. She grasped Laufey's head and pressed her forehead to his, a warm brush of familial magic shared between them.

"At last I have a family again," Laufey said quietly, "and am now able to embrace them properly. You have always been a daughter to me, Hermione, and now you _are_ my daughter by marriage. I could not be happier or any more proud that this is so."

Laufey removed a sabre-claw necklace from around his own neck. "This I made for my youngest son, who I long believed to be dead. It seems only fitting that it comes back to you now." He placed it around Loki's neck. "If the frost-sabre ever attacks you on the floes, and you are _not_ allowed to call Tryggr a wild frost-sabre—"

Tryggr looked up and snorted, baring his teeth.

"If you have not already had your first great hunt, only two things you need ask the Great Mother for. The sabre teeth. One for you and one for her. Pray to her that she may gift you with the knowledge of the runes that go upon them as you give her the rest of your kill. This one time, all but the twin teeth go to her. But this will wait, for now, until the bond is sealed, and She Who Watches Over Us will know and understand."

Loki nodded, his eyes filled with emotion.

"Now go," Laufey said. "Impregnate your mate in glorious consummation. I will leave food by the cave entrance until you can crawl your way back to the tribe, laden with my grandchildren."

Loki and Hermione flushed deeply as Laufey shoved them back behind the hide doors and closed the flap, weighing it down with a rock.

"Mrowl?" Tryggr said.

"Mrfff," Bjørn replied.

"We stay with you today?" the baby frost spiders asked.

"If you wish it," Laufey said with a kind smile.

"We can spin you a scarf!" the spiders suggested.

"Silk loincloth?" another suggested.

Laufey shook his head in amusement. "Whatever you wish, my fluffy little friends."

"Okay!"

They crawled up Laufey's hand, up his arm, and arranged themselves around his neck like a rainbow-coloured stole.

Laufey smiled. Times were changing— for the better.

* * *

Loki stared at his blue hand as it curved around Hermione's waist. The glow of her markings seemed so incredibly beautiful to him. Her body seemed like a work of art that should be exposed for all to see just how glorious it was— how perfect. Suddenly, just how little the frost giants wore seemed to make a lot more sense. Their glowing markings against the blue skin— glowed against the snow's fierce radiance. Jötunn vision made them stand out like beacons in the frozen wasteland.

How had such beauty been missed?

How had Asgardian society become so biased against the Jötunn race?

Had it really been so simple as King Bör believing himself superior, attempting to conquer the Jötunn races, and then his "disappearance" spurring on a long, costly war based on retribution for something that was Bör's own fault ?

Had the All-Father and the Asgardian warriors seen how the real event had played out, would it have made a difference?

Rumour had it that sometimes Odin woke up calling out in his sleep for his father to leave him alone. It always came during the winter months— specifically with the snows. It was often said that Odin was always trying to find a powerful sorcerer who could dispel a great and powerful curse that had been placed upon his father— but perhaps there was rather more to that than merely rumour.

As he stared at the fluctuations in the deepening colour of Hermione's skin, Loki couldn't help but marvel at what a great a gift this Great Frost Mother had given the frost giants. The forbidden romances with mortals or basically non-Asgardians seemed an utterly moot point. You'd always know if the love was a true bond, or the transformation would not occur. But, the imprint— if it was truly given by the Great Frost Mother, Herself, then the chances of being imprinted on one that wasn't compatible was pretty slim. As for hunting ability, well, that was a different thing altogether.

Hunting. Now how was _**THAT**_ going to go over?

Loki was not a hunter, technically, because he hadn't succeeded yet in his first great hunt. That made Hermione the adult in the relationship and himself embarrassingly like a was, if but a little, like Snorre, and that wouldn't do at _all!_ No one wanted to be like Snorre: the Jötunn who'd been a ruddy child for almost two thousand years.

Thor did have his share of moments— but even _**Thor**_ had more sense than than Snorre.

Seal dung had more sense than Snorre.

A small voice from the furthest corners of his mind protested, "Why should you even _care?_ "

Loki frowned. "It matters to these people," he answered himself. "It matters to _HER_ , and if I'm going to find my happiness with her, then I bloody well _will_ care!"

As he looked around the cave, he realised that even with his upgraded size, the inside was spacious and large enough to accommodate the both of them, two very large animals, and quite a few others, if Hermione were to have sick or wounded to tend to. Thankfully for them, there were no sick or wounded at that given moment or they might have the free show of their lives. Loki had the feeling that Jötunn had seen it all before and so weren't fazed by too much. From Hermione's memories, they pretty much did exactly what they wanted, whenever the mood struck and wherever they bloody well chose to do it. Hermione had a particularly mortifying memory of Håkon and herself walking into his parents' shelter to get a game and having to walk right by mum and dad getting it on. Jötunn kids just walked right by, got whatever it was that they wanted and went back outside without so much as batting an eyelash. Hermione, however, had been traumatised for days.

After spending over a thousand and some years believing himself purely Asgardian, he could only relate to the degree of cultural shock _that_ might have caused. Intimacy of a sexual nature usually happened beyond and behind closed doors. Well beyond and very much behind. Even Thor at least took the females to the privacy of his bed instead of throwing her down on the bar table or going at it in the palace hallways. Mind you, what you might _**HEAR**_ from Thor and said female, even behind closed doors, was another matter entirely, but at least you didn't have to actually _see_ them going at it.

Jötunn, on the other hand, only had eyes for their mates. And if you happened to be enjoying your mate's company out on the ice floes, well, any other Jötunn in the vicinity just privately hoped the couple didn't end up falling into the ocean due to sheer enthusiastic abandon.

But, what about adolescent experimentation? A tiny voice in the back of Loki's mind protested.

How _DID_ that work?

Hermione obviously wasn't asking and either did very well not noticing on purpose or not noticing because it didn't happen. Loki knew from his own experience that the sexual act, no matter how pleasurable it might be, did not automatically lead to a mating bond, so— maybe there was _SOME_ experimentation out there until the imprint smacked the male upside the face and said "Your female is over _THERE_ , stupid!"

Loki cast a sideways glance. Not that he would have ever had that issue. Cough. Not at _all_. _I wasn't almost married to a homicidal maniac woman who would have shanked me in my sleep no matter how good the sex was…_

What if he had married to her?

Then what?

What if he'd met Hermione _after_ he'd been married?

Would that have even _BEEN_ a marriage?

Would it have worked?

Hell, would his male plumbing even _work_ for her?

And considering that real arousal seemed to bring out the blue in him, he had a feeling Sigyn would have tried to murder him one way or another.

He'd had his share of lovers through the years, but it had never been accompanied by that driving, fire and ice need. That had been the gift of his Jötunn biology. Yet, with it came the greater gift of being able to claim Hermione as his true mate— making her his more than just emotionally.

Hermione yawned and snuggled into him, and Loki purred as he fastened his mouth to her neck, gnawing a little to get to just the right spot before—

Hermione cried out as he clamped his teeth on her skin, sending intense rivulets of magic and pleasure coursing throughout her body. Her arms flailed out, and he wrapped himself around her.

"Hello," he rumbled, humming as he mated his marks fully to hers.

"Hnnnggg!" Hermione groaned, her body still trembling against his. "Loki… "

"Yes?" he replied, rubbing his cheek against hers.

Hermione jerked suddenly, using her legs to wrench him off her and roll him over onto the furs. She pinned him down with her body as her hands clamped over his wrists.

"I want you," Hermione growled. "Right. _**Now."**_

Loki's eyes widened in absolute worship. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

"You, dinky. Get out of Snorre's spot," the big lout of a Jötunn male said as he tried to loom over Loki.

Loki, spear in hand, narrowed his eyes in annoyance. Snorre was not a hunter, nor was he trying to be one, as all he had was a fishing net, so the rules were a little hazy. Adults, when possible, yielded to children so the children could learn— but if food was on the line for a family, hunters always trumped children. Loki, however, was still a "child" by societal standards. That put him on equal ground with Snorre.

Deciding that he would get nowhere with the big lug scaring away the seals, Loki moved to a new spot and found a new breathing hole to station himself by. Not far away, Laufey was carving himself a new spear, having given his old one to Loki for him to use on his hunt. As father and son, it was a tradition for the father to hand down a spear to their son for their first hunt, and it was considered a great honour if your spear broke during that first hunt, to be given along with the carcass to the Great Frost Mother. Hermione, however, had carved her own, having no blood relation in which to gain such a gift— but Loki had a feeling that Hermione's spear would not break very easily, if at all. It was imbued with her spirit and tenacity, and even more so her deep faith in the the Great Frost Mother. Even after her change, the spear had simply grown with her. One day, if they had a daughter, that daughter would gain the most powerful spear a young hunter could get, one that had been blessed by countless hunts and prayers.

In time, Loki would carve his own spear, based on the runic carvings on his father's, but that would not be today. Today, he had to prove to his mate that was a hunter and to the tribe that wasn't a child. And as to the Great Frost Mother, to She he had to prove he was not a disrespectful imbecile.

With Hermione so near, Loki did not feel the discomfiture that he would have experienced had he tried to go out and hunt without having fully sealed the bond between them. For now, their bond was stable, but the all-important pregnancy had not yet occurred.

Soon, he knew. Patience, like waiting for the seal.

Laufey, of course, made it look easy.

Hermione, of course, made it look like magic. The seal practically leaped up into her arms and cried "Have me, oh goddess! Take me into yourself!"

Loki would settle just for bagging a seal, well, secondary to it not being an embarrassingly small representative of its species.

Hermione was ice-fishing. She had already prepared and dressed the carcass of her catch, setting out choice pieces for the Great Frost Mother in thanks for the catch and in thanks for her new mate, both of them seemingly equal in importance. He supposed that wasn't so hard to relate to. If you didn't eat you were dead, and then what good were you to any mate?

Hermione had also dressed and prepared Laufey's catch too, skinning and filleting the fish with the ease of a true professional. Laufey looked on proudly, realising that his teachings had not fallen on deaf ears. She had already started to smoke a rack of ice-fish, and it smelled absolutely delicious. Sadly, he could hear Snorre smacking his lips as noisily as possible, and he really wanted to see a wild frost-sabre appear to take a piece out of the Jötunn's rear end. Even if he had to transform himself into one in order to _make_ it happen.

No, no he wasn't going to engage in his usual pranks, despite how much he really wished to. This was far too important for him to risk botching it with misunderstandings. He couldn't bear to see Hermione hurt even _THINKING_ that he wasn't taking their mating seriously. He would _never_ do that. He'd just discovered his real father— biological father— well, one of his fathers. Loki rolled his eyes. Things were… really complicated.

This seal hole was just starting to freeze back over. Laufey had said not to bother it unless it truly froze all the way over. The sound of the ice being broken could scare the seal away faster than any whale.

Oh, and there were the whales.

The sea-wolf whale was a monstrous, terrifying beast, often known as the very will and force of the Great Frost Mother— the soul of Jötunheimr itself. Even the smallest of them spanned further upwards of 36 meters in length, and that was at least three to four times longer than a full-grown adult Jötunn was high. And that was only the very smallest of their kind!

Only idiots underestimated the sea-wolf whale— many preferred to overestimate the massive creatures, as being wrong after running away was far better than ending up dead. They hunted and ate the largest of seals by breaking through the thickest of ice, smashing into with their bodies, and then engulfing their prey whole in one fantastic swallow.

It was, truly, the smartest move to run for land when one saw even a hint of the great shadow looming just under the ice. The smartest knew never to go too far out from solid land, no matter how tempting it might be, because reaching land was the only thing that could save you from the ever-hungry sea-wolf whale.

The old village that Hermione remembered had been surrounded by the great glacier for many hundreds of years— safe from the melts and safe from the whales. But over the years, the glaciers shifted, and the roots of it had changed, allowing the ice under the village to be exposed to current. Current brought warmer waters, and that thinned the ice below. The insulative ice that had protected them from the whale's attentions had slowly been whittling away at the village's safety zone.

Hermione had moved her people just in time, and the Great Frost Mother had rewarded her for her faith by reminding her people just how easily the land could change and swallow them up.

Suddenly, Loki saw a shadow moving towards the hole, and he got his spear ready, bracing himself on the ice. "O, Great Frost Mother, guide my spear directly to its heart that my prey does not suffer but that my family will eat well," he recited the words, remembering the warmth in Hermione's memory as she said them. "Protect me with your icy embrace that I might know mercy both from the beasts and the fury of Jötunheimr herself. I am but a lowly young hunter, struggling to survive and to feed my family. Please bless me with your divine vision that I might carry you in my heart another day."

He opened his eyes just as the seal burst from the breathing hole, bellowing in terror. He saw, or rather felt, Snorre as he was bounding towards him with a determined look on his face. But Loki wasn't paying attention, not truly, for below him moved a shadow's shadow. The massive expanse of fathomless black swam in the great, frozen deep, and an icy chill ran up his spine.

He might be a god— but these creatures were god-eaters.

If not the very hand of a true god, without the magically-imbued hammer Mjölnir, Loki knew that even Thor would have issues if those great jaws came hunting for _him_.

"Run, Snorre!" Loki yelled, grabbing his spear and hoofing it toward the shore. Hermione and Laufey had set up camp firmly upon the solid ground, far enough away not to attract hungry, opportunistic sharks. He saw them both suddenly stand up, staring at him as he ran as fast as his feet could carry him. Seals were scattering in all directions, desperate to get to the rocky shore and beyond, their desperate barks and shrill shrieks of terror loud enough to near-deafen him.

"Snorre, get to the shore, _**NOW!**_ " Laufey barked the order over the chaos.

Loki hit the shoreline in record time, not stopping until he was on his hands and knees, panting harshly next to the small fishing camp. Hermione pulled out her spear, and Loki felt the rise and flare of her magic as she prepared to fling a spell at Snorre. He could feel that she was gathering far more power than she usually did, and he was reminded of how she teleported an entire village in a single night. He pressed his hand into hers, and his magic flowed and wove itself with hers, their twin markings glowing brightly.

But just as Hermione was preparing to release her spell, the great sea-wolf whale burst up through the ice, snapped its jaws ard Snorre and flung him bodily towards the beach. The whale roared as it slammed down as it pulled itself up on the shore using its disturbingly clawed pectoral fins. Its body tore into the ice, shattering it glass, spraying chunks and shards in all directions as clouds of steam rose up from the beast's blowhole. The beast used its rostrum to scrape the loose sand and rock from the shore, its rear flank slamming hard into the ground even as the flukes smashed into the water causing water to crash in a massive wave across the shore.

And then, the beast rose up, unnaturally, as if one would rise from the floor and pull off a covering, and the head of the beast seemed to deflate and pull back away from a gargantuan Jötunn female with hair as white as the pristine snows and an intricate crown of ice wreathing her head. Mist swirled around her body like a robe of gossamer silk.

"Snorre, son of Steinar, I have watched over you since the time of your birth. Your father died a hunter. Faithful. True. He was killed not by nature but by war, and so I have watched you, waiting for the time you would go on your own great hunt and say the prayers that your father did— and that your mother does. But you did not. You have killed your seals in secret, hidden, uncelebrated, that no one knows of your deepest shame— your selfishness. You gorge upon the hard work of others. You feed off of your mother's pity, and today— today, you would sabotage your fellow's hunt that their misery might be like your own," the Jötunn goddess' nose wrinkled in unmistakable disgust. "Since the seal was your first great kill, hidden in your gluttonous greed— foolishly wooed by your dead king's words that there were _**no**_ gods— I shall give you flippers that you may drag yourself upon the ground but so you have a fighting chance to avoid the sea-wolf whale in the water. I shall also give you fur that you shall always be clothed. I will give you sharp teeth that you might hold on to a fish if you can catch it. But lastly, I give you my Mark, a mark of Shame that all hunters will know to avoid you, to not to hunt you and that all predators might easily see and chase you. This is _my_ divine judgement. This is _my_ will. This is _your_ punishment, Snorre, son of Steinar."

"May none feel guilt for your sake, for your end is of your own making," the goddess commanded as Snorre cried out in agony as his body twisted and convulsed. Sharp canines sprouted up from his gums as his face pushed out into a muzzle. Long whiskers sprouted out from his face as his bulging eyes moved to the sides. His ears shrank as his arms compacted and grew into fore-flippers. Fur grew over his skin as he collapsed heavily onto the ground, his legs fusing together as his feet flattened and connected into hind flippers. A wailing bark came from his mouth as a bright, glowing, fluorescent pink sigil was emblazoned upon his head and back: a sigil in the shape of the great and mighty sea-wolf.

"Laufey, Hermione, do approach me," the goddess said, the fury in her blazing eyes having been replaced by calm.

Tentative but obedient they did as she bid, unknowing of what punishment they might endure for an act of disobedience or disgrace they had yet to be reminded of. Both knelt before the goddess, careful to look away from her face.

"You may look upon me without fear," the goddess said kindly, her fury now gone. You have kept love and prayers within your hearts even when life was darkest and most cruel. You, Hermione, found faith where none had dwelled before, and you chose me and my people to warm your heart and give you a home. I heard your prayers upon your first hunt, and I hear them still, with every hunt you give to me, every prayer upon your spear, every whisper for strength in the face of danger, every thanks no matter how small. I have seen your great compassion— rescuing a clutter of spiders drifting away on the ocean waves, tending a wounded Jötunheimr beast, moving a great encampment not for fame or glory, and forcing food down a grieving father's throat, refusing to leave him to die alone. I have seen your fury, righteous and grieving. And even when your grief was legion, you did not kill the enemy that had caused it. And even your punishments have a touch of my divine justice."

The goddess dipped her hand in the ocean, her fingers dripping with glimmering sea water. She traced a crown and sigil upon her forehead. "You are mine, Hermione, daughter of Sigrunn. I claim you as my priestess that you may always remind my people of my will, support them whenever they are troubled, and bring my justice to those who think themselves above any law they have not made themselves. You are bound to me eternally, as is the great sea-wolf whale. This is my will. This is my desire. Will you accept this duty— this calling?"

"Yes, my goddess," Hermione said, tears flowing down her face.

The goddess pressed her lips to Hermione's forehead. "None may take from you what I have given."

"Laufey," the goddess said. "A great many pains have come into your life. Your love for Farbauti was strong as the very permafrost. You have suffered more than most yet you continue on. You sit with the common man. You drink with the common person. You lead, you comfort, you defend. You are not perfect, but you do not pretend that you are, nor do you make excuses for it. You adopted a daughter into your heart, even when your gut told you to cast her into the ocean for being small and defenseless. I give you two things, Laufey, king. I give you my Mark that all may know that you are faithful, and I give you the peace in knowing that you shall not be alone forever. There will come a time when love will find you again, and it will not be a betrayal. It will be a celebration that life continues on, even for you."

The goddess drew her fingers across his head as her mark glowed from his skin, painted in the very pigment of his skin.

 _ **SQUICK!**_

Loki's spear thrust swiftly into a fat, panicked seal that had frantically attempted to flee back to the ocean and instead ran directly into Loki.

"My goddess," Loki said with a bow of his head, "I give to you the fattened seal of my first great hunt that give my thanks for the finding of my mate, the teachings of my people I never knew until now, for guiding my spear to the heart, that my prey need not suffer. This hunt is yours, Great Frost Mother, as am I."

The Jötunn goddess' lips turned up in amusement. She passed her hand over the carcass and pulled off the hide. It formed into a belt and the distinctive loincloth of the Jötunn people. She passed her hand over his body, and it appeared in place of his trousers, giving quite a flattering view of his assets, Jötunn style.

The rest of the seal she took and flung into the far seas.

 _ **VOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!**_

The great sea-wolf whale breached where it had landed, and the carcass was quickly dragged into the depths of the freezing sea.

"Your offering is most acceptable, young Jötunn hunter," the goddess said kindly. "May your hunts be plentiful and your prayers often."

The goddess dipped her hand into the sea and pulled up a handful of spiky frost-urchins from the sea floor. "A gift for you, Hermione. You will crave them, soon enough."

Hermione's eyes widened, but she bowed her head respectfully. "Thank you, my goddess," she said.

"Do not feel guilty if you do not wish to share this time, Hermione," the goddess said with warm amusement. With that, the goddess stepped away, allowing the water to almost swallow her up as she pulled her whale "skin" back over her head. The great sea-wolf whale breached and her mighty tail slammed into the cracked ice running along the shoreline. The vaguely familiar-looking seal sporting a bright pink sea-wolf sigil went careening head-over-fins into the sea along with the tossed iceberg— and then went zooming off across the ocean surf in a panicked flee from the great sea-wolf whale.

* * *

 **A/N:** Snorre deserved it.


	2. Sealed Kharma

**A/N:** *yawn* amg sleepy. WHYYYYY? Lots of class work, writing for class, things I can't ignore (boo). Classes come first, sorry guys!

 **Beta Love:** The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, Flyby Commander Shepard

* * *

 **Castaways**

 **Chapter 2**

 _The best thing to hold onto in life is each other. - Audrey Hepburn_

Hermione discovered the advantages of aquaculture as a way to both relax her patients as well as provide a food source for her future cravings. With a little help from magic, the algae and aquatic plants flourished along with the sea urchins gifted by the goddess. It looked like they were going to have a very healthy colony and Loki confessed that he was looking forward to not having to dive into an icy sea and dodge seawolf whales to bring Hermione her essential craving targets once pregnancy caused to lose her mind over difficult-to-find foods.

After Loki's rather unheard of personal witness of his hunt by the goddess herself, the couple celebrated long into the night by doing exactly what the goddess predicted they would while Laufey brought the news of Snorre's fate to the tribe. Håkon, as predicted, felt some guilt over not having been there to stop Snorre from trying to tamper with Loki's hunt, but after they heard what Snorre had done—hiding his great hunts as well as selfishly not sharing with his family let alone the goddess Herself—pity was not longer on the list of emotions for the late-Jötunn-now-seal Snorre. Even his mother, who had blamed herself for many of Snorre's dysfunctions, finally accepted that what Snorre had become was not her fault, nor the fault of her joining with her late mate—Snorre had simply been an unusually poor example of the Jötunn species.

Hermione yawned sleepily. Still the pull to just cuddle up with her mate and let the bonding sleep consume her was incredibly strong. Part of her wondered just how much more "bonded" the two of them could get.

Loki's arm wrapped around her and pulled her close, perhaps sensing her fatigue, and she snuggled into his embrace, relishing the feel of his marks as they fully mated to hers. He had an unnervingly good sense of when she was getting tired, and he could always manage to maneuver her back to the sleeping furs before she even realised she had been expertly manipulated.

Like—right now.

How did he _DO_ that?

His arm snaked around her belly as he spooned against her back, pulling the thick hide over the two of them for a little extra warmth. While neither of them truly felt the cold anymore, the almost-hedonistic feel of the hides hadn't been lost on them. Both of them remembered feeling a deep-seated comfort from snuggling under a plush duvet, and a plush winter fur was a fine substitute. There was also the luxury of spider silk sheets, which had become quite the sensation in the tribe once they realised that their rainbow-coloured spider friends could create such fine things— _if_ they asked nicely and gave them a bowl of tasty snacks.

The spiders seemed downright ecstatic about the new developments. No more being stepped on, plentiful food, places to sleep that didn't involve getting blown away in the wind, and yes, back to not being stepped on anymore. Rumour had it that wild frost-spiders were catching on that much better living was to be had in one particular Jötunn encampment—provided they submitted to a little infrared re-colouration. However, after about five clusters of pristinely white frost-spiders peered at Hermione from her pillow when she woke up, she realised that maybe that wasn't just a rumour, after all.

Loki chuckled over the fact that spider-silk pillows and sheets were better than anything he had back in Ásgarðr, and his mother would have probably suffered through a week's long diplomatic negotiation if it meant getting her hands on some. Hermione pondered sending her a care package from Jötunheimr with an obscure return address.

Hermione hummed, enjoying the touch of Loki's clever fingers as he massaged an exotic scented oil over her skin—and she silently thanked Severus for having taught her that particular recipe. He had always preferred the scent of a particular mixture of herbs to soothe his aching muscles, but Hermione had always altered it to fit her mood. Using the herbs and Jötunheimr native species, she made a mixture that soothed the mind and the the muscles—embodying the scents that calmed those that lived out on the floes.

Her eyes fluttered as his mischievous tongue found other places to occupy itself on her body, and she let out a soft groan of approval. That, of course, only encouraged her enthusiastic mate, and he then proceeded to demonstrate just _how_ mischievous one's tongue could get when properly motivated. By the time he was actually inside her, Hermione's brain was away on holidays, and on the front of every postcard had Loki's perfectly sculpted body wearing absolutely nothing at all. As their magic flared and merged together, Loki gave out a cry of his own, the added tendril of the goddess' claim upon Hermione seemed to realised they came as a mated set, and so, too, it set all of his nerves on fire at the peak of his mate's pleasure. Hermione let out a shuddering scream of satisfaction as Loki rode the wave of his mate's ecstasy—sharing with her his own with a very male smile of satisfaction.

"I think I may love you," Hermione whispered contentedly as Loki pressed a kiss to her neck.

"Do I not please you, my mate?" Loki pouted, chewing on her skin.

"Hnnnggghhhh!" Hermione moaned. "It may be a chronic, eternal affliction."

Loki purred. "As well it should be."

Hermione's eyes shot open. "There is something I must do. _**Now**_. Will you come with me?"

Loki froze, sensing his mate's sudden change in priorities. "Of course."

Hermione's hand closed over his. "I finally realised what time it is."

* * *

Severus Snape was going to die, and he knew it. He had expected it, even, but not quite in the manner it appeared to be coming for him. A giant snake in a bubble was not quite how he imagined his death. A series of Cruciatus curses causing a heart attack, most definitely. A killing curse to the back was certainly quite plausible. But death by a magically-enhanced snake in a bubble?

He should have seen it coming, really, despite how utterly ludicrous it was. Nagini was always Voldemort's most prized asset and his favourite method of body disposal.

With Potter and his two helpers gone, he could at least die in peace with the irony that the potions master neglected to bring a bezoar or even a healing potion with him. He had told Hermione the ultimate lie. He had forced his eyes to betray nothing of the truth even as he commanded her to go off with Potter and save the world, making her believe he had a plan, but there was no plan.

She would blame herself, he knew this in his very bones. She just couldn't help herself. Stupid girl. Always blaming herself for things that simply couldn't be helped. This one, well, it might have been helped. He should have had something on him. He should have made an undetectable extendable pocket and put an emergency Nagini-kit in it. He should have _known_.

Should have.

Could have.

 _Still_ dying, thank you very much.

At least the Dark Lord took his snake and left him to die in peace.

 **Rumble.**

 **Crack.**

 **Crackacrack.**

 **CRUNCH!**

The entire side of the shrieking shack obliterated itself right in front of him.

"Size difference… right."

That… sounded remarkably like Hermione.

"Forget something, my love?"

"I'm—used to being smaller than everything around me."

"Mrrrr."

"Ahem! Focus! Tryggr, hold still. I need the kit out of the saddlebags."

What the _hell_ was going on out there?

"Ok, hold still. _**Reducio!"**_ There was pause. " _ **Reducio!"**_

There was the hurried pattering of feet as the head of a giant sabre-toothed cat shoved its muzzle into the hole in the shack.

 _Holy mother of Merlin._ He was going to die by being eaten by a huge prehistoric feline!

" _ **Tryggr!"**_

Hermione was running towards him, only she looked like a Smurf that had been possessed by demons. A very _tall_ Smurf possessed by demons.

 _That magically-enhanced snake venom must really be working overtime._

Hermione was also practically naked.

Yes. He was _definitely_ dying of magically-enhanced snake venom.

Hermione shoved the giant feline head out of the way. "Go chew on some Death Eaters—or better. Go gnosh on the giants."

"Mrrr?"

"The brown, club-swinging ones."

"Mrr!"

The ground shook as the feline disappeared.

Severus vaguely registered the screams in the background as Hermione propped him up and uncorked a potion, sniffing it, and then putting it to his lips. "You told me to my face you had a plan, Severus Snape," Hermione hissed. "You _lied_ to my face!"

Severus blinked blearily as a swarm of white, fluffy spiders swarmed out of her hair and crawled over him.

" _He's a mess!"_

" _Bandage time!"_

" _More bandage time, yikes!"_

Severus made a gurgling sound. His hallucinations were talking in a language that he clearly didn't know.

How was that even _fair_?

Why was Hermione talking in a strange accent?

Why was she so scantily clad? What the hell was his brain coming up with? Why was that young man dressed in only a loincloth and carrying a bloody _spear_?

"Job's done!"

The fluffy spiders were crawling back into Hermione's hair, and Severus was suddenly glad he couldn't move, else he'd be frantically trying to brush them all off himself.

"He's stabilised," Hermione said, Her hand touched his forehead and was as cold as ice. "We're going to have to wrap him up to protect him from the cold."

Cold? It was sodding _summer_.

"Severus? Can you hear me? We're going to take you somewhere that no one, and I do mean _no one_ in the Wizarding World is ever going to think to look for you, even should they manage to find it. But I need your permission, Severus. And after what you put me through, the answer had bloody well better be yes!"

Severus coughed. "Language, Granger. And yes, you have my permission."

"I'll carry him," the blue male offered.

Why was everyone sodding _**BLUE?**_

Hermione wrapped him up in—what the hell _was_ that? Some kind of fur? He was burning up. He did not need another layer of _FUR._

Hermione let out a high whistle, and the pounding thuds of impossibly large feet got louder and louder. Two heads tried to shove themselves into the ruined side of the shack. The feline—and some other strange tusked beast from hell.

"Mrrr!"

"Bouwwwrrrr!"

"Bjørn, I'm not even going to _ask_ how you sneaked through that portal, you big jealous menace."

"Bourrrrwrrr!"

Severus felt a blast of impossibly frozen air hit him even through the fur. What the hell!?

"Bjørn, drop it. We do _not_ take foreign arms back home with us."

The beast whined, disappointed, spitting out a collection of snake-branded arms.

"Tryggr? Arms? Legs? Random heads?"

The giant cat spit out a large femur.

Hermione sighed. "I _do_ hope that Harry appreciated the well-timed distraction."

"Portal is stable. We should go now," the male urged her.

"Okay, let's go. Beasts first, you mischievous furry wretches," Hermione said. "Shoo."

Bjørn and Tryggr walked into the portal. Hermione and the unknown male grasped each other's hands and plunged into the freezing cold as the portal flashed and collapsed.

* * *

" _ **Merlin's frozen balls!"**_ Harry exclaimed as the blast of frigid cold almost froze him to the very spot he was standing on. He hurriedly pulled on his winterised coat after he pried himself up off the ground. Somehow the portal had opened up directly above them, spitting them out into some random snowfield without so much a thank you or a good day.

Luna, who was dressed in a hastily-conjured fur-lined parka and mittens stepped out of the way as one of the unspeakables landed in the snow where she had been standing with a loud _**OOF**_. "It's very cold here. I'm glad I dressed warmly."

Harry was quiet. Ten or more very tall, blue-skinned giants were staring at them, spears pointed at them in obvious suspicion.

"Actually, Harry, they're pointing their spears at _Ronald_ ," Luna said without even a flinch.

Ronald, Harry noticed, though still securely restrained in magical irons, had attempted to bolt only to find himself at the end of some very intimidating looking spears. The spell that had allowed them to recreate Ron's initial portal and stabilise it, had taken them to what they had thought was going to be the middle of Antarctica. Yet, Harry had the sneaking suspicion that they were not, in fact, anywhere _near_ Antarctica.

"I'd say we should wait for Amelia to introduce us, but she seems to have fallen on the leader of the group. They appear to be engaged in some sort of alien mating ritual over there in the snow. Judging by the previous sounds, I'm pretty sure it's very consensual and highly enjoyable. I might even be jealous. We might have to wait a bit, regardless."

Harry blinked. " _ **What?**_ "

"I wouldn't worry about it, Harry. If they wanted to kill us, we'd already be dead," Luna said with an unconcerned shrug. "Me? I'm eying this rather handsome specimen over there who seems to be giving me the eye and making rather attractive growling noises."

" _ **Luna!"**_

"Yes, Harry?"

"How can you—"

"Harry, if you'd just stop getting so uptight about it, you'd notice that there is a really pretty female over there who apparently finds you quite alluring. As it is, I'm pretty sure that none of us are going to want to go home by the end of the day." Luna turned her gaze back to the male hunter that was, indeed, making growling noises at her and the look in his eyes made it clear that there was nothing even remotely threatening about it. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Harry spluttered, feeling like he was caught up in a Muggle episode of the Twilight Zone, Cinemax edition, which he had the odd misfortune of stumbling on in his godfather's leftover belongings. Apparently, while holed up with Buckbeak for months, he'd figured out how to nick cable from his Muggle neighbours, who had an international satellite hookup. While Harry really couldn't blame him for being utterly bored out of his mind, Sirius obviously had certain… preferences as to the type of content he most liked to watch. The American Cinemax and Playboy channels had apparently been great favourites of his.

Luna just walked right past the crumpled, whimpering form of Ronald Weasley and approached the redheaded hunter, whose hair seemed to be more like the colour of actual flames. The hunter tilted his head, watching her curiously. He cautiously extended his hand to her, and Luna grasped his finger, very slowly running her hand across the markings on the back of his hand. A golden radiance ran across the markings of his body, setting his markings alight. Luna staggered, and his hand scooped her up. His nostrils flared as he pressed his face into her.

Luna's breathing became laboured and she pressed her hands against his face as an icy blast of magic flared between them.

"Luna," the hunter said, voice heavy with want.

"Arneot," she breathed unsteadily.

He raised her up and she pressed her forehead to his. His golden markings flooded into her and she gave a cry as her body convulsed and grew, and grew, and—

" _ **AHHHHHhhhhhhh!"**_ Luna gave a cry of ecstatic release as she pressed her mouth feverishly to Arneot's, pressed both hands to his head, and dragged him down into the snow.

The other Jötunn hunters gave them a cursory glance, seemingly having seen it all before and did not move from their positions.

" _ **Luna?"**_ Harry called, his face turning really red.

Ronald was groaning as he fell over on the snow, and Harry ran over to check on him. Ron's skin was flushed and he was panting, practically gasping for air.

"Ron, what's wrong?"

"C—can't—c—c—" Ron stammered.

Ron's body seemed to be exuding clouds of steam, and he was sweating as though he had a raging fever.

His legs pumped—growing larger. Ron was thrashing back and forth on the snow, his clothes splitting and falling away. His hands were swelling, blood dripping from where the magi-cuffs were cutting into his wrists.

Harry quickly unlocked them, fearing that Ron's hands would end up being amputated at the wrists.

Ron gave a strange, almost-pleasured groan, and he rolled around on the snow, each rub, his body convulsed and bulged more, breaking out of his clothes—but the cold oddly didn't seem to bother him anymore. His gut was bulging out like he was a chronic drinker or heavily pregnant, and his legs were expanding and fusing together into a huge set of flippers.

" _ **Ank! Ank! ANNNKKK!"**_ Ron bellowed. His face was pushing out into a muzzle as whiskers sprouted out. His nose flared and darkened, and his eyes bulged as they slid to the sides of his face. His ears shrank—or rather his head expanded and his ears reformed and reshaped into rounded, furred seal ears. His ice-blue eyes were wide in a strange combination of terror and arousal. He tried to run, but he slid-tripped over his newly-formed flippers. His body however, was growing and expanding at an alarming rate. Harry stumbled backwards to avoid being slammed by Ron's wildly thrashing body.

" _ **Annnnkkk!**_ " Ron moaned in clear misery.

His body convulsed and expanded, monstrously towering over Harry. Harry and the Unspeakables hurriedly backed away, their wands aimed squarely at the transformed Ronald Weasley.

" _ **Ankkkk! Annnnnk!"**_ Ron bleated piteously.

" _ **ANNNK! ANNNKK!"**_ a lower, deeper bellow sounded from a bit further down the beach.

Suddenly, as if a switch had been flipped, Ron took off down the beach—towards the other seal, which seemed to be sporting some kind of glowing pink tattoo. Odd, that.

"Ron!" Harry called, looking to the Unspeakables for some sort of hint as to what to do, but they silently looked back at him, shaking their heads. Harry's eyes widened as he realised two things: Ron and the other seal were very obviously getting it on right there on the shore with Ron as a very, erm, enthusiastic participant, and Ron was—well, a Rhonda, now.

Harry rubbed his temples. "Oh Merlin, what am I going to tell Molly and Arthur?"

The Unspeakables, as usual, were silent.

Harry decided that making camp was probably a good idea. The spear-wielding giants appeared to be quite content to sit on the ridge and watch them. Judging by the sounds—Luna was clearly having the time of her life, and Amelia, well, Amelia was _definitely_ alive and well. He tried to keep his mind off the attractive female giant that had been giving him the eye. He also tried to erase from his memory the fact that Luna turned into a giantess Luna and proceeded to engage in the "alien mating ceremony" of her own.

Harry beat his head against his hands. He most emphatically did _NOT_ want to go back and explain all of this to Molly. Arthur he could reason with. Molly—Molly was already brassed off at him for "callously dumping Ginny by the side of the road." Just forget the fact that Ginny had actually chosen to date some Ravenclaw Quidditch star in her own year and that Ginny was even pregnant by the bloke in question—he didn't want to be around for _THAT_ particular revelation at the House of Weasley. Thank you, but no.

As far as Harry knew, Ginny was happy an oyster in its reef, so he wasn't quite sure _why_ Molly had gone so mental over it. Arthur, at least, had understood—even took him out for drinks. Mind you, no one told Molly that Fred was an Unspeakable, either. It seemed like everyone _BUT_ Molly knew about that. Well, Molly and Ronald. Remus had been evacuated with Tonks to some werewolf-friendly town in the Netherlands, and they were apparently expecting (again) and had arranged for Teddy to be taken there as soon as they built their house together, literally. The only one they hadn't been able to save was Sirius, who had been taken out by Bellatrix before it could happen thanks to Harry's own stupidity, and Professor Snape.

After having seen the memories and read the letters for Dumbledore, including the ones that exonerated the man for what Dumbledore had ordered him to do under bond of oath—Harry knew exactly why Amelia had authorised the use of the time-turner to save Snape. Snape deserved to live out the remainder of his life on his terms for once.

Dumbledore had arranged one, final plan to get Snape out of danger and secret him away so people could believe he was dead, if he so chose. But it would be on his terms and his choice, and the whole plan relied on Hermione. But Ronald had gone botched that all to hell by choosing that moment to go propose to hermione, who never wanted to marry that stupid sod anyway, and then get brassed off at her for planning to save Snape instead of Fred.

Well, she couldn't very well tell him that Fred was still alive! Fred had work to do that relied on him being believed to be dead. It was easier for people to think he was George. And George—well, he was a damn good faker. He faked mourning like nobody's business. You couldn't hide Fred's actually being alive from him. They had that eerie twin bond.

After pulling out the miniature enchanted smokeless campfire that Hermione had made for them while they were camping, he ignited it with a spell and dug around in his supply pack for something to cook on it. He'd gotten better about packing things that he needed or would need. Hermione had taught him lots of things without intending to. He'd been wrong about her in a few ways, and in his heart he knew that he should have supported her more instead of letting Ron steamroll her and nag on her and blame her for things.

He hadn't realised, not until Ron's "vision" of Harry and Hermione being secret lovers, just how incredibly jealous and insecure Ron was. Harry _did_ love Hermione, but it was a sibling sort of love. Now, Ron was a seal, and he had no idea whatsoever of to think about that. Luna was off having mad, passionate sex with a giant she hadn't even known until today. Amelia had literally fallen on the giant's leader and _THEY_ were having mad passionate sex together too.

WHAT THE HELL _WAS_ THIS PLACE?! The Frozen Snowland of Instant Fornification?!

 _ **Thump.**_

A fat seal carcass landed beside him. Harry frantically checked to see what colour the creature's fur was.

"It is not your… prisoner," the Jötunn female said in broken English. "I am Elin, daughter of Solveig, and friend to Hermione, daughter of Sigrunn, mate of Loki. She taught me your language just in case… unexpected visitors arrived."

"Hermione is here?"

Elin frowned, and Harry abruptly realised that he was being rude. "I am—Harry, son of James?"

"Do you not know your own father?"

"Not personally, no."

"He was a warrior then?"

"He died in the war, a year after I was born," Harry explained.

"The war of wizards. Magic?" Elin asked.

Harry nodded grimly.

"Hermione tells us the stories, so they will never be forgotten," Elin said. She tell us the histories of her past, that we will remember that she was once… small, like you, but fierce."

"Sounds like Hermione," Harry chuckled. "You said… daughter of Sigruhhhn? Mate of Lucky?"

Elin shook her head. "Daughter of Sigrunn. Mate of Loki."

"Thousands of years ago, when the camp was over the ice floes, many walks towards the far sea, Hermione fell out of the sky and landed on Håkon, son of Raynor. She was tiny, like a child. She pointed a stick at us, speaking words we did not understand. The cold froze her bones, and Sigrunn took her up and raised her as her own. Our king wished her to throw her back into the sea for she was tiny, weak, but Sigrunn bared her teeth and told him size was not the measure of worth. One had only to look at Snorre to know this was true. He agreed to allow her to remain, under Sigrunn's care, and she would teach Hermione how to be a proper Jötunn. It would be the only bet King Laufey ever lost—he bet that she would die before her very first winter."

Harry smiled. "That's our Hermione."

"She learned our language. All the languages of the giants of Jötunheimr," Elin said. "She learned the language of Ásgarðr, the language of the gods, and she learned the most important language of all—the language of our goddess, the Great Frost Mother. She learned our ways. She followed them, and one day, she _believed_ in them. She _became_ them. She went out on her first great hunt and gave her offering to the Great Frost Mother and became a true hunter for our people—fit to sit at council fires and speak as one of our own people. And she saved us all from the gaping maw of the seawolf whale, whose mighty jaws swallowed our old home mere seconds after her magic moved our village here to this place."

Elin's face was lit with pride and respect. "She is counsellor to the king. She has his ear when no other may approach, for she saved his life upon the frozen snowfields as he was laden down with grief. She is our healer. She is the hand and voice of the Great Frost Mother. She is her priestess. But when all things are said, she stands with us as a Jötunn, a healer, a sister, a mother, a friend. Just like our king, she sits with us, eats our food, hunts for our people, drinks the same water, and she has finally found a mate in one of our people, something we had wished for her, for so very long."

"That's not possible," Harry objected. "She's human. We do not live that long."

Elin tilted her head. "Do you believe that I lie to you?"

"No!" Harry said, clutching his head. "I'm saying Hermione _couldn't_ have lived hundreds of years let alone for thousands. Humans—we just don't live that long."

Elin frowned and then seemed to realise something. "Ah, the time-sand. And the… phoenix tears. When she came to us, she said she had a golden pendant that held the sands of time and phoenix tears—some flaming bird of your world. When her former "friend" attacked her, it broke. The portal tore her pieces, but when it put her back together, it put her together with the sand and the tears. All of that changed her from what she had been before. She no longer aged. We had thought her like us, only much tinier—and not as healthy because her skin was so unnaturally pink."

Harry turned to the Unspeakables, whose glowing green-eyed blindfolds flickered like flames. "She's been here—for thousands of years?"

"It is but enough time to grow up and take on a hunter's tasks for most of us," Elin said. "Why does this make your hands tremble so?"

"It's only been a day for me—one day since she fell through that portal," Harry said quietly.

Elin frowned. "Perhaps, while thousands of years pass for us, only a day for you," she speculated. "Other Realms have different rules." She took in a deep breath. "You and your friends should eat. The cold will quickly sap the heat from your bones and kill you faster." She gestured to the seal carcass. "Come, I will butcher it for you, so you and your—companions may eat." She was silent as she pulled out an ulu and sliced the seal open quickly, skinned the seal, removed the innards, and cut the ribs into sections, and then she cut those sections into sections, and those into smaller sections fit for human handling. She unfolded a rack from her back and propped up the larger pieces to smoke and cook, and laid out the smaller pieces for Harry and the Unspeakables to take off the fire when it was cooked to their preferred level of doneness.

She had sectioned off a few choices pieces that Harry thought she was saving for herself, but she wrapped them up in the skin and tied it close in the wrapping of the hide. She placed it on a small floating iceberg and shoved it off into the ocean, bowing her head and saying something in her native language that he did not understand.

A huge dark shape moved under the water

 _ **Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnggggghh!**_

 _ **CLACK!**_

The jaws of the great seawolf whale slammed shut over the offering, iceberg and all, dragging it back down into the deep sea.

" _ **HOLY FUCK!"**_ Harry exclaimed, his wide eyes practically bulging from their sockets.

Elin turned to stare at him. "You do not have whales where you come from?"

"Not like _**THAT!"**_ Harry blurted.

"Who takes your offerings to the gods?"

Harry's brow furrowed, unable to answer the question.

"You humans are a strange people," Elin said, "but your hearts are brave, lest you would not have stepped into the swirling vortex that lead you here. And, you are obviously of some mixture of the right elements that the Great Frost Mother would match us with you, that we might share with you the gift of our people and you to us."

Harry gave her a shrug. He noticed a piece of seal stuck in her hair, and he reached over to pluck it out. "You have, uh, a piece of meat in your hair—" he said awkwardly. Misjudging the distance due to their difference in size, his fingers brushed against her skin and Harry's eyes went very wide, his pupils dilating as his nostrils flared. Countless memories passed between them in a rush of magical heat.

Harry gasped, his eyes locked with Elin's.

"I—" Harry began to say, swallowing hard. "I _really_ want to touch you right now."

Elin unfastened a bundle from her waist and unfurled it with a hungry look upon her face. "Then touch me," she invited him. She shrugged off her few silken and fur garments without any further ado, exposing herself in all her glory—not that her clothing had left much to the imagination in the first place.

Her markings were glowing brightly, and Harry found himself utterly compelled to touch them. He _needed_ to touch them. He wanted to bury himself within her and clamp his teeth onto her neck—

" _ **Merlin!"**_ he exclaimed, trying to make sense of the rushing, driving feeling of fire and ice, that was inexorably pushing him forward.

His hands found her skin, and he couldn't remember moving. He pressed his hands into the raised runic markings and the golden magic spread into his body. He shuddered as a flood of bracing cold filled his body—but it felt—strangely fantastic. He had dreamed of having a family for as long as he could remember—and the siren call of Elin lured him in with the very sharing of their dreams. What he wanted, deep within his soul, was what she offered: absolute trust, a supportive ear, a friend, a lover, a wife. In a blink of an eye—he _knew_ her. How she fell into the ice as a child and was almost taken by the great seawolf whale.

 _Hermione had saved her with her magic, flinging Elin out of the ocean and into the panicked arms of her mother. Hermione had slept for an entire week after that incident—having used every last bit of her magic just to make sure one young child survived. Elin had asked her mother how someone so very small could do such big things, and her mother had told her that miracles often come when and where they least expected them, hugged her tight, and made her swear not to go out near the shore without supervision again._

 _He knew Elin had sneaked out onto the ice again, wanting to catch a fish for her mother since she was feeling ill. She had thought she was alone. She had thought no one had seen her, but as she had slipped back into her parent's shelter, she realised the king had been watching her the entire time._

 _Her first hunt—clumsy and dangerous._

 _As she tried to skin the seal at the very edge of the shore, the great ice-shark had found her awareness wanting. It threw itself upon the shore, teeth ready to clamp onto her and drag her into the water. Stupid!_

 _Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!_

 _The jaws clamped around her seal!_

 _No!_

 _No no no no no no!_

 _She lunged for her spear—her mother's pride and joy._

" _Great Frost Mother, please guide my spear," she prayed. "Guide my spear to the heart that it may not suffer, but that I may not suffer as well."_

 _The runes on her mother's spear glowed brightly. The shark thrashed, trying to drag the seal back into the water. Elin drew her mother's spear back and drove it into the shark with all of her might, giving a loud scream of desperation._

 _Her mother—so proud of her. She couldn't let her down. She couldn't!_

 _Her father had brought home kill after kill to support them. It was time for her to take her place as a hunter of the tribe._

 _ **SSSSSsssssshhhhhrrrrrkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!**_

 _The spear drove through the shark's tough hide, but not quite deep enough. The shark snapped and writhed, jagged teeth barely missing her leg and her arm. She scrambled up the shark's sandpapery hide and used all of her weight to drive the spear in deep._

 _ **CRACK!**_

 _The spear shattered with the force of her will, and the mighty shark spasmed once and went still._

" _ **AARRRRAHHHHHHH!"**_ _Elin screamed before collapsing next to the carcass of the great shark._

 _A warm hand touched her shoulder, and Elin's eyes widened as her mother embraced her. She dipped her fingers in the shark's blood, painting her daughter's face with it. "You are a hunter now, my daughter. May no one tell you otherwise," she said proudly. "You have shattered my spear in your first kill. A good omen. Give the shark unto our Great Frost Mother that may know your success this day."_

" _But mother, the seal was my first kill," Elin said with sadness. "The shark was just an accident."_

 _Her mother held her face in her hands, pressing her markings together as their foreheads touched. "Nothing happens by accident on your first hunt, dear daughter. "Give back to the Mother what she has tested with you, and thank her for her blessing."_

 _Elin hugged her mother and nodded. "But, I broke your spear!"_

" _Spears can be remade. It is an honour to give it unto our goddess to commemorate your first great hunt. Now, give your hard work unto Her, and take only the meat from the body."_

 _Elin nodded. "I will."_

" _You make us proud, Elin," her mother said fondly._

* * *

 _Harry thrust the Sword of Gryffindor deep into the skull of the great basilisk, screaming as the fangs dug into his arm._

 _Ginny was safe._

 _He was dying, but it was okay. Ginny was safe. Hogwarts was safe. No more deaths like Myrtle._

 _A flash of red and orange in his blurred vision._

 _Warm drops touched his arm, and the pain eased. His vision cleared._

 _Fawkes stared at him with a kind of avian compassion, his head crest raising as one last tear dripped on Harry's arm._

 _He was going to live._

 _At the barest age of twelve, he had slain the basilisk, and he was going to_ _ **LIVE!**_

 _Now… if he could only manage to survive to graduate._

* * *

Harry's world shrank down to one very important thing: _Elin_. She was the only thing that mattered. Her touch, her warmth, her mind, and her memories. There was nothing but her.

Her soft moans, the feel of her markings under his hands, the delicious feel of her tongue mating against his. He knew he had to touch everything, mate his very skin against hers, and oh, he did. Again, again, and again!

The only voice he could hear was hers. The fire and ice in his very blood eased only for her. He clamped his teeth on her neck and completed the circle of magic that spread the blue across his skin, the crimson into his eyes, and the tapestry of her markings onto his skin.

 _ **Yes!**_

 _ **Oh, Merlin, yes!**_

He wanted nothing more than to be bonded to this incredible female for all time, hearing her distinctive, beautiful moans, and know they were for him and him alone. He drove into her, frantically, wanting and needing that final release that would bind them together.

Nothing else mattered.

Nothing but her and the need for her to be carrying his child.

 _Their_ child.

He could feel her readiness and pleasure building and the sweet, sweet ecstasy as he thrust himself into her over and over. _This_ was the reason he had survived. _This_ was the reason he ended up here.

Elin. Sweet, sweet, Elin.

No one else will I ever, ever want.

Only you.

Always you.

We shall make ourselves a family.

A family at last.

In a blinding surge of completion, he saw a vision.

* * *

" _Daddy, daddy, what are you doing?"_

" _Carving a spear, Hjortr."_

" _Can I watch?"_

" _Of course."_

" _When will I be able to carve a spear?"_

" _When you are as old as your brother and ready to go on your first great hunt."_

" _Will I hunt the frost-elk?"_

" _Nay, Hjortr, they are too small to offer the Great Frost Mother," Harry chuckled. "Think bigger. Like you shall be."_

 _Hjortr concentrated really hard. "Seal then?"_

" _That would a fine offering, my son." Harry smiled at him._

" _I want to bring in a giant shark! Like no one has ever seen!" Hjortr boasted._

 _Harry ruffled his son's hair._

" _Bloody Gryffindor," Severus muttered from the other side of the fire, his daughter Kenna in his lap._

 _Harry stuck his tongue out at the old Potions Master._

 _Thwap!_

 _Hermione's palm smacked into the back of his head. "Concentrate on your prayers as your carve, Harry."_

 _Harry slumped, "Yes, Priestess Healer." He made a face at her, even though his face was looking down._

 _Thwap!_

 _The king stared down at him after smacking him upside the head with his hand. "Show respect for your elders."_

 _Harry straightened up. "Yes, my king."_

 _Kenna giggled at him as she ran off with Hjortr, carrying the fishing nets between them._

 _Harry looked after them fondly._

" _Those two are so going to end up imprinted," Loki said idly, fixing the last knot in the fishing net and handing it to one of the other children. They grabbed it and promptly tore off after Kenna and Hjortr._

" _They will not!" Severus and Harry protested together, glaring at each other over the fire._

 _Hermione kissed them both on the forehead. "Oh yes, they will."_

* * *

Harry blearily opened his eyes, his arm pulling Elin closer to him as a sense of blissful satisfaction clung to him. He didn't remember falling asleep, but the snow had covered their bodies like a soft, fluffy blanket, and he found he didn't even feel cold anymore.

His mate.

Mmmm.

Never had he felt so content and happy. The roaring madness of needing to mark every inch of Elin's body and soul was gone. He could breathe again. He could touch her or not and feel okay, but he definitely preferred the touching. Oh, Merlin, _yes_.

He'd lost count of just how many times they had coupled. Sleep, couple, sleep—but the driving madness was gone at last. The need was sated.

But his bladder—

He _did_ need to tend to that.

Tucking his mate tenderly into the furs, he realised he was in some sort of shelter. There was ample room, a cooking area around a fire, a sleeping area that was raised up off the ground. The shelter itself seemed to be constructed of a combination of ice and snow, formed into large bricks and fitted together with masterful perfection. The hides that lined the bed were thick and comfortable, and while he did not feel cold anymore, he appreciated the silk sheets and light hides to cuddle under.

The light was provided by the fire, which he noticed was the portable, smokeless fire he had packed to bring along with him. There were storage bins carved out of the ice, and to his amazement they were all full. By the door was a rack of some sort—which he realised had spears lying against it. Strange runic carvings covered the surface. One looked old and weathered as well as well loved, but in great condition. The other was pristine, but it has a lightning bolt burned into the leather grip. That one, apparently, was his.

There were other bed shelves on the other side of the shelter, lined with fur—for guests, perhaps? Harry wasn't sure. There was a hamper lying open nearby, filled with some cloth and belts. A scroll lay next to it.

Harry picked it up and unraveled it.

* * *

 _You were the single last person I expected to see shagging your brains out in the snow as I returned with Severus, Harry James Potter. I'm not going to complain, because Laufey is now happily mated, and I've never seen Amelia so happy in all the years I've known her. Luna is star storytelling around the campfire already, and the children can't get enough of her. And Fred—Merlin, Harry. Fred?! His brother is going to be freaking out._

 _By the way, the entire anonymity with the Unspeakables uniform only works when you aren't stripping it all off and doing your level best to consummate a mating bond. I could have warned you, had I known you imbeciles were going to make a portal and fall into Jotunheimr like a bunch of students attempting their first Apparition. You're lucky you didn't end up where I did when I first landed. That area is now ocean patrolled by seawolf whales that make the blue whale look like Flipper_.

 _I took the liberty of making you a shelter for you and your mate, or rather upgrading the one she already had. That should hold you for up to four children. After that, you can make your own extensions, Harry._

 _Don't piss off the multi-coloured spiders. That means don't step on them or try to brain them with random pieces of cookware._

(Harry flushed and guiltily put the frying pan down as he read that.)

 _They will make you loincloths and wind covers as well as bandages if you need them, but you have to ask nicely and you have to give them some food. Fish works, but seal meat makes a better impression. They are getting better at understanding English, but use Jötunn if you want it done right, otherwise you may end up asking for something and getting something really embarrassing._

 _And be NICE, Harry. These are frost-spiders, not Acromantulas. They won't eat you, but they have a painful bite that will leave you limping for weeks. If you were human, it'd be fatal, but think of the advantages of the size difference._

 _The big beasts that make Fluffy look like a newborn puppy are the village guardians. Don't piss them off either. They won't attack you, but don't go around trying to scream and throw things at them. They really don't like that much. The children like to ride around on them, and the biggest ones even adults can ride, but those tend to stay around their families or chosen people. If you run across one out on the floes, they will have a distinctive glowing silk collar. I don't think I have to explain to you what will happen if you should spear someone's guardian beast._

 _I know you'll be freaking out a little. I know I did when I first showed up, but you do have the advantage of Elin's memories in the here and now, and I had to learn it all long before I got the memory share—and even when I did, well, let's say it was good I learned it all before hand._

 _Oh, if you should happen to see this symbol:_

 _(drawn seawolf whale sigil)_

 _On any animal out in the wastes? Do NOT kill it. It's been cursed by our resident goddess, and you do NOT want to piss her off. Just… trust me for now, Harry. I know this is all falling out your ears right now._

 _Now, part of you probably really wants to grab that spear and go stick something with it, but before you do, go make friends with one of the village hunters. They will know you're new and they will be happy to teach you which end to stick into the seal. I kid, but there is a method and a ritual to it. For now, etch that into your brain and don't deviate. Later, you'll realise what it all means. I'd start with Magnus, if I were you. He hunts often, usually daily to help teach his son and provide for his family. He's also patient and less likely to throw you to the whales if you should accidentally call him something horrible in Jötunn. (Stay away from Kleng, by the way. He's old and cranky and he would throw you to the seawolf whales just for looking at him wrong. He tried to throw me into the ocean once, but Sigrunn caught me and promptly kicked him between the legs. I do not recommend that method of dealing with him.)_

 _Now, don't freak out, but I dressed you because I_ _ **know**_ _you, and you'd just storm out the shelter with no clothes on, or you'd try to dress yourself in the loincloth and it'd end up being worn like a toga. It was clinical, Harry. I'm a healer here. You were unconscious anyway. Besides, after spending a year with you in a ruddy tent, I think I've more than earned a little leeway. Do be sure to thank the spiders for your comfy new loincloth. They're really talented little guys._

 _There's enough food and supplies in the caches to last you for three months, the standard honeymoon period wherein it's perfectly okay for one to not rush out and stab something with a spear, but by then you're expected to know how to hold a spear. Again—talk to Magnus. He's the most giant giant in the village. You really can't miss him. He's built like a tank and he's taller than everyone else. He arm wrestled a seal for his first hunt and succeeded. He's got a heart of gold, though._

 _By the way,_ _ **everyone**_ _knows your name now. It's, um, kind of a natural occurrence considering how the typical first mating goes down. Just don't try to make excuses for it._ _ **Everyone**_ _knows. Elin has a really good pair of lungs._

 _All the fires in camp are entirely smokeless. Be sure to use them when you are out on the floes. There are the free Jötunn and then there are the city-dwellers. Let's just say those of us who live out here like our secrets and for our families to remain unmolested. If you see a dark shadow moving under the ice, run as fast as you can for the closest patch of solid ground, and then keep running for about a minute more. NEVER stand at the edge of the shore when the ice is thin. That's shark hunting territory. Don't stand on the thin ice, EVER. That's whale territory. The cold won't kill you, but there is a lot of stuff out there that would love to nom on your tasty blue body, Harry. Seriously, just don't do it and always be careful out there._

 _The rest, I leave for Magnus to teach you. It's more than I can write on this parchment._

 _Oh, and Jötunn are very touchy-feely people compared to what we were used to in Britain. So don't freak out, okay? They will hug you, hug your mate, touch your arm, and soothe your aches. It's just a normal, everyday thing around here. They would never, ever have eyes for another Jötunn's mate. Just like you will not ever look to someone else, they can't either. The only ones who look around are immature Jötunn who haven't imprinted, but that all ends when they find the one. Much like you know now, Harry!_

 _Oh! And by the way, if your mate should have any strange cravings? Come visit me. I'll help you out. Now if YOU have any strange cravings, you need to go talk to Magnus. He'll help you out. Normally Laufey doesn't mind helping out the new folks, but he's got a new mate to take care of, and trust me when I tell you that he's all in when it comes to making sure that Amelia has everything she needs to adapt. I'm about the only one who can go in there without getting snarled at._

 _(sketch of Magnus) (sketch of Kleng) (Sketch of Laufey)_

 _Laufey is the king, by the way, so I probably don't need to tell you anything other than that._

 _Congratulations, by the way, on your new marriage._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Your friend,_

 _Hermione_

* * *

Hermione, Håkon, Loki, Laufey, and Magnus sat together at the base camp, watching over the new influx of hunters trying to successfully accomplish their first hunt without managing to lose their heads or any number of other necessary appendages in the process. Amelia and Luna were happily taking a lesson from Hermione on how to dress and prepare a seal, and Laufey seemed both pleased and amused that the new Jötunn females were adapting so well.

Elin waited patiently for Harry to bring something back, and Fred's mate, Gimle, was busy showing him where to stand and how to hold the spear without getting overly fatigued. Waiting for a seal to take a breath was a very long wait, more often than not.

Fred, of course, thought the entire situation was "wicked" and his love for his new mate was incredibly strong. Fred, much like Harry, had woken to a shelter built for him, and he, too, woke up with a long letter from Hermione. Magnus, amused but patient, wrangled all of the new hunters-to-be so they would succeed in becoming proper "adults."

"The DoM is not going to be happy," Amelia said as she finished with preparing Laufey's seal. "Yet, I find that I don't really seem to care."

Laufey pressed his lips to her forehead. "I can't imagine why."

"They just lost an entire rescue party," Hermione chuckled. "No big loss, right?"

Amelia snorted. "Now they think that we're lost and Severus is lost—oh, and, sadly, our prisoner is also lost."

"He's not lost," Hermione said. "He's a _seal_."

Amelia gave Hermione a side-long glance.

"A very pregnant seal?"

"Not helping," Amelia said, chuckling.

"Severus is alive, at least?" Hermione suggested.

"He hasn't left that shelter in weeks," Magnus observed.

"He's recovering well," Hermione muttered.

"Oh, I'm thinking he's right recovered, priestess," Magnus said with a raised brow. "Judging by the frequent screams of satisfaction coming from Eostre."

"Speaking of screams," Magnus said with an approving grin. "There she goes now."

"I think Eostre hasn't been so distractedly happy in centuries," Hermione smiled.

"Well, one thing is for certain, anything that comes from that mating will have to be better than Snorre," Laufey snorted.

"Let us be fair, my king," Håkon said. "Steinar was a good hunter. He was a dutiful father and mate."

"Tis true," Laufey agreed. "I just wish his son could have done him honour instead of disgrace."

Hermione shook her head. "The goddess Herself said not to blame yourselves for Snorre's poor choices. It does not disgrace the father that his son did not take up after him. He did all right."

"You speak true, priestess," Magnus said. "Perhaps we all need a little reminding of it."

Hermione smiled and nodded. "What _ARE_ you going to tell the DoM, Amelia? How are you going to tell them for that matter?"

"The portal was keyed to Ronald Weasley's last spell, and that was recorded down in the DoM. We had not known at that moment that you had rescued Severus, perhaps it was all happening at around the same time. They very well may believe he was rescued as planned, now, at least." Amelia sighed. "We all have our Portkeys we can use to go back, but therein lies the rub, right? I don't wish to go back, and I'm pretty safe in saying that none of us would wish to do so when our mates are here."

Hermione was silent for a while. "The Great Frost Mother would allow me to create a portal, but it would have to be to ensure the safety of our people," she said slowly. "She would ask what you meant to do with such an opportunity."

Amelia turned her head to look out over the churning sea. "I think I would put a warning on that portal stating that no one should enter it unless they don't ever wish to come back."

Hermione chuckled. "Fair enough."

"And definitely not enter if that is true and you have a rocking personal relationship."

"Or single," the former Unspeakable Jeffries chuckled.

Hermione wagged her finger accusingly at Jeffries. "Are you complaining, Hunter Jeffries?"

"No. No, ma'am. I am most definitely not," Jeffries said with a grin.

"I should hope not," Laufey sniffed. "He's having twins."

" _ **What?!"**_ Jefferies exclaimed.

"Don't be shocked. Your compatriot over there is also having twins," Laufey informed him rather smugly.

Jeffries stared at former Unspeakable Carleton.

Carleton's eyes widened. " _ **What?"**_ she cried. "My family has _**always**_ been… fertile!"

"As fertile as a Weasley?"

"Not _**that**_ fertile," Carleton said with a delicate shudder.

"Twins are a very good sign for our tribe," Laufey smiled. "Long we have gone with but minimal numbers, fearing the magic of the Útgarða-Loki. But now, perhaps, we have a different future before us—one in which we are at peace with our goddess and magic."

Amelia frowned. "I think I want to know what we have on Jötunheimr, Hermione. The DoM's library and research department is vast indeed, but it is also buried under mountains of obscure and dated material. Maybe there is something there that—"

Hermione looked at Amelia when she stopped talking. "Yes?"

"Sorry, that was just old habits speaking. I actually—I don't really want the DoM to know too much about this place other than to tell them to stay away unless they feel like staying forever." Amelia snorted.

Loki had a Cheshire cat grin on his face. "Don't mind me. I have an idea."

"Does it involve exploding whales?" Hermione asked, suspicious.

"Not this time, my love."

Hermione eyed her mate. "I'm listening."

* * *

 _ **Missing Weasley Leads to Missing Weasleys**_

 _Mrs Molly Weasley is offering a reward for any information leading to the recovery of her youngest son, Ronald Bilius Weasley, her husband, Arthur Septimus Weasley, or her other son, George Fabian Weasley._

" _That Harry Potter dragged my precious Ronald into a portal to the Arctic Circle!" Molly yelled at baffled Ministry officials weeks earlier. "I demand that you get him back!"_

 _Shortly after Molly Weasley was witnessed shrieking at Ministry officials, her husband, Arthur, and her son, George, also disappeared without a trace._

 _Rumours have it that the DoM has squirreled away some sort of strange portal to another world, but all attempts to see or gain information about this portal have been met with blank stares, shaking heads, and fervent denials._

 _The Traditionalist Pureblood movement sent their chosen representative, Dolores Jane Umbridge, to investigate, but we are told that Umbridge hasn't been seen since her descent into the very bowels of the Ministry, before which she proclaimed, "I_ _ **WILL**_ _get to the bottom of this ridiculous charade!"_

 _As for the Arctic Circle, Aurors were sent to search for signs of either Arthur or George Weasley and only managed to find some very baffled-looking musk oxen and a few cranky walruses._

* * *

"My king! There is a problem!" One of the royal guards shouted, panting as he tried to catch his breath.

"What? Has Loki returned? Have you pried Lady Sigyn from her chambers?" Odin grunted.

The guard looked baffled. "No, my King. There is a strange woman who appeared out of nowhere only to land in Lady Frigga's Pira fountain. Half of her face is gone and all of her toes, but she's brandishing some sort of stick and screaming at us in some strange language."

Odin closed his eyes, counting to ten backwards from fifty. "And _how_ did this happen, exactly?"

"Some sort of swirling portal spat her out over the garden, sire."

"Is she Asgardian? Which Realm does she hail from?"

"Miðgarðr, sire," the guard replied.

Odin sighed. "Take her to a healer and then have her put in a holding cell. I want to know how she got here and why. Be sure to take her… stick away from her."

"Yes, my lord," the guard said, exiting quickly.

"Now _why_ couldn't my son just fall out of a swirling portal and save me the trouble of hunting him down?"

The sculpted beasts in the throne room did nothing but stare blankly into the distance.

* * *

"Why didn't you ever _**tell**_ me my brother was a Jötunn?" Thor demanded, pacing around the large dining room table that, for once, was not being flipped over.

"Because it shouldn't have mattered," Frigga said.

"It _**doesn't**_ matter!" Thor yelled. "My brother is _**missing**_ , mother! The very day before his wedding, no less, and if _**that**_ doesn't reek of suspicion to you, then I'm not sure _**what**_ would!"

"You do not have to yell at me, my son," Frigga chided.

"Sorry, my mother."

Frigga sighed. "His heritage was kept from him because when your father found him, he had to cut him out from his dead mother's womb. She was a victim of the war, my son. Odin picked him up and brought him home to me, but by the time they arrived at the palace, Loki had changed—his body had become like ours. Odin wished to spare him ridicule and wished to keep his true story hidden, lest the bias of the war torment him. We took him as our son, and he has been your brother ever since."

"There was no intent to hurt him?"

"No my son," Frigga assured him. "He is my son, as are you."

"Mother, I saw Lady Sigyn in the far gardens this morning. She was with Fandral, being comforted—but—"

"But what, my son?"

"I have seen lust enough to know when it is empty or emotional, my mother."

Frigga frowned. "And what did you see, my son?"

"She is _**not**_ a woman grieving for her beloved," Thor insisted.

"She is an arranged marriage," Frigga sighed. "That may indeed be true, but it is not expected that she love him."

Thor shook his head.

Frigga seemed to ponder something. "I will check on her myself, my son.

Thor nodded, visibly relieved. "If something bad happened to him and emotion has him rediscover himself, I don't want him thinking that we hate him, mother."

Frigga's face creased. "Nor, I, Thor. Nor I."

* * *

 _ **Interdepartmental Memo**_

 _To: D.O.M. All Clearances_

 _From: Acting Supervisor Alastor Moody_

 _I'm not sure what sort of cauldron the lot of you have been sniffing, but I want you all to remember that the portal room 1C3-A is_ _ **OFF LIMITS**_ _for anyone without direct business there. The rescue party for Hermione Granger has still not come back, and while the time stream seems to have taken care of Severus Snape, we can't find him in the predesignated place, which makes me think something went sodding pear-shaped. Amelia is no fool, and she took a good group of people with her to make sure things didn't go wrong._

 _The fact she hasn't come back makes me think that whatever sodding place Ronald Weasley sent Hermione Granger to was_ _ **NOT**_ _the Arctic and it was apparently not even on_ _ **EARTH**_ _, as none of us can get a trace on any of them. I'm not sure where they are, and we have experts trying to decode that ruddy lot of gibberish Ronald Weasley spewed in his memories, but even his memories can't seem to remember what he said! For all I know they were ported off to some fictional wonderland!_

 _Now that portal was supposed to remain open as long as Ronald was there, and something must have mucked up. The portal now seems to be permanently one-way only, so if there is a way back, they are going to have to find it all on their own. We can't afford to lose any more people over it. Even better, the portal is unstable. So far it's teleported Anders and Jenkins to a tropical island paradise, Mundercoy ended up in the sulfur pits in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming, and Umbridge—Hell if_ _ **I**_ _know where that sodding toad of a woman went._

 _Some people claim to hear it whispering like the bloody Veil Gate and some people insist that they don't hear diddly. Some people are getting in and throwing themselves into it, yet the doors are completely locked, and I want to know_ _ **how**_ _that can even be happening, people!_

 _We need to get and keep a lid on this thing before we have to lock it up and pour cement around it._

 _Now get me the information I need before I throw the lot of you into it!_

* * *

Hundreds of panicked seals barked and scattered across the floes. Some jumped in the water. Some jumped out of the water. Some went towards the beach, while others swam as fast as they could to get away from it. They swam in such a great number that even the ice-sharks were having trouble homing in on them.

 _ **Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnggghh!**_

 _ **CLACK!**_

The jaws of a huge sea-wolf whale crushed down upon the dizzy shark and a few seals, dragging them down into the frigid water.

 _ **Thump.**_

 _ **Thump-THUMP.**_

 _ **THUMP!**_

A shark, a seal, a giant jellyfish, and a large pile of ice algae landed on the rocky shore next to the campfire.

Severus walked back to the camp, his distinctive black robes still making him stand out all the more on a pristine, white frozen wasteland. As he came back into the camp, Laufey looked up and passed him a spear. "You forgot your spear."

"I didn't _need_ a spear."

"As impressive as that was, Severus, and it _was_ quite impressive, you need to make a traditional kill with your spear, just like the rest of us."

"You've got to be bloody kidding me."

"Your old master can turn into a seawolf whale?" Loki asked Hermione, his expression quite impressed.

"Who knew?" Hermione said with a shrug.

"It wasn't exactly a form I used more than the one time I shifted and realised I'd _**NEVER**_ use it again."

"Why not? That was fabulous!" Loki cheered.

Severus narrowed his eyes. "One, I'd never seen that species of anything ever before in my life. Two, it was aquatic, and I teach in a school surrounded by pubescent children whose only interest in life is shagging each other or attempting to kill each other, either with pranks gone wrong or their own witlessness and stupidity."

Loki crossed his arms and pouted. "That's no fun. My mate is a giant-eating sabre-toothed feline. You're a giant sea-wolf whale. I feel like I need to be something extra interesting now to make up for it."

"Loki, you're a _**god**_ , for cripes sake," Hermione said with no little amusement.

"Just because I'm a god, does not mean I can't—oh, mrrrr."

 _ **FOOP!**_

In Loki's place was a giant black-furred, red-eyed frost-sabre. He gave Hermione a long slurp.

Hermione's eyes slid to the side to regard her mate in his newfound form.

Loki wiggled his whiskers.

 _ **FOOP!**_

Hermione transformed, and the two frost sabres bolted off across the floes, chasing each other and generally having a ball.

Laufey just shook his head. "Kids." He poked Severus with the pointy end of his spear. "Now go hunt your seal in the proper way before it gets dark."

"I'm _not_ a child you know, even though I haven't yet speared some aquatic mammal with a pointy stick," Severus muttered.

"You're actually far younger than most of the children in this tribe, Severus," Laufey said. "You were obviously sexually mature as humans perceive such things, but if we were to count years, you'd be but a seal pup in the springtime."

"Forty years is _hardly_ a child on Earth," Severus replied. "I am older than those two, at the very least."

Laufey chuckled. "I'm afraid you would be incorrect there, my friend," Laufey said. "Hermione has grown up and lived with us for upwards of two thousand years. She became a hunter of this tribe long before you, my friend, were even born. As for Loki, he is—I think a thousand and a half. He was born at the end of last Asgardian-Jötunn war."

" _ **What?"**_ Severus said, boggled.

Laufey chuckled. "The young girl you knew landed upon Håkon over two thousand years ago, my black-clad friend. Did you think she just developed such a rapport with my people in but a matter of days?"

"I wouldn't put that past her at all," Severus said.

Laufey shook his head. "No, she has paved the way for your acceptance and those like my new mate and all the ones who came through that gate since long before this. Had she not, your welcome may not have been—so fruitful, nor as pleasurable."

Severus seemed to ponder his words. "One day, I hope to hear the full story," he said.

"You have plenty of time now, Severus," Laufey said, offering the spear again. "Just one more thing that needs to be done so we can all go home."

Severus grumbled, accepted the spear, and walked resolutely to to the less-populated area of the seal-hunting ground. "Yes, my king."

Laufey looked at the shark, seal, jellyfish, and the excessive pile of ice algae. "Kids."

* * *

With the influx of pregnant females in the tribe, Laufey decided that he needed a little help from his new daughter-in-law to help ensure the tribe had a fresh supply of oddball seafoods for the even more oddly timed cravings. Hermione's creation of the sea urchin aquariums had given him an idea to create a sort of fountain pond in the center of the village that was large enough that if one of the hunters needed to fetch some sea-urchin, fresh blue-spotted crabs, rainbow sea-snails, two-headed face-clampers (octopi), black oysters, blue-lipped clams, the ever-egg-laden ice-puffer, and the ever-flavourful green-striped eelsnake.

Laufey knew that the bounty under the ice was teeming with wonderful food, if only it could be safe to get them. The threat of the great sea-wolf whale was ever present—at least until Severus came up with a glorious idea—body guarding.

With Severus lurking in the water in his sea-wolf whale form, teams of Jötunn hunters took their nets below the ice and harvested quite a large haul of tasty things to bring back, but the fact had remained that there would be times when Severus was occupied doing other things. And while it wouldn't be too much to ask for Loki to do a little lurking in one of his forms, Loki was worried he might give birth to an eight-legged sea-wolf whale or something even crazier than Sleipnir. It was one thing to change into the form of something to be with one's mate—but his luck with changing forms into animals had always produced strange results.

So, Laufey decided to work on a fountain aquarium project, and once fully human wizards and witches were all too eager to help with the construction. Luna turned out to be an excellent sculptor, and she erected a flowing effigy of the Great Frost Mother in all her glory at the center of the fountain, making the fountain the centerpiece of the settlement. The Unspeakables, used to containing both man, beast, and all things in between, constructed unbreakable walls to contain the water. Severus "shoveled" a huge load of plants and biomass from the ocean floor onto the shore, and the village towed it back to the fountain to line the bottom with the help of the village-beasts. Loki, Hermione, Bjorn, and Tryggr ended up with whooping children on their backs even as they towed things back, and Loki tried not to look disgruntled with a lump of sea algae slumped over his head.

Amelia constructed a filtration system for the water, and Fred and George were making "aquarium" scenes in the tanks, from miniature Diagon Alleys to Hogwarts, and epic dragon-scapes, channelling all of their love and fun from Weasley Wizarding Wheezes into entertaining the village. Laufey knew that the twins really wanted to try and make it fun for their stranded father, but Arthur had chosen to go off on his own and was living in a shelter all by himself.

Unfortunately, Arthur was, truthfully, small and so set on remaining true to Molly and finding his son and doing things the way he normally would, that many societal conflicts were happening. The tribe was treating him like the old hermit on the edge of the village who was always shaking his spear at the children as they played near his shelter. Hermione was hunting for him, as Arthur was incapable of even fishing the shores without attracting whales—and not the eating kind, more the kind that ate him instead. The children tried to teach him how to fish with nets using the shallows, but the language barrier was hampering any and all communication.

He'd tried to fling a number of spells at poor Bjørn when he had arrived laden down with a load of supplies, shaved off poor Tryggr's whiskers, and traumatised the baby spiders, sending them all running back to Hermione's hair, crying in distress. He'd practically screamed like a little girl when he met the changed George a week after George had "disappeared" and he hadn't even recognised Fred, officially.

Denial was a powerful, powerful thing.

Astera, an older female that took an interest in trying to keep him alive, tried to leave him food and hides to keep his shelter and himself warm, but Arthur couldn't backpedal fast enough as he shied away from her, looking like she was the seawolf whale coming to devour him whole. Merlin help her if she tried to reach out a hand to help him—she might as well have been trying to murder him from the panicked noises Arthur made.

The fountain project had turned into a tribe-building adventure, and everyone had started to pitch in. Ornate ice pillars and intricate carved reliefs surrounded the fountain, turning it into a place of meditation and contemplation. The Jötunn craftsmen seemed very happy to have something so dedicated their trade to in a way that honoured their goddess as well as benefitted the tribe, and Laufey was not about to disagree with the sentiment.

The reliefs that decorated the pillars and the walls depicted many scenes. There were the legends of the Great Frost Mother and her most well-known teachings, but there was also pieces of history woven in. The first village's founding, the startling arrival of Hermione from a hole in the sky, Sigrunn's adoption of the foundling, Laufey's desire to cast her into the sea, Magnus' first great hunt in which he literally wrestled the seal to its death on the floes with his powerful arms alone, Sigrunn's saving of the village from the ice-plague that had come along with a new refugee from Útgarðr, and a great many more lined every wall. None, however, were so framed as the moving of the village, the cursing of Snorre by the goddess Herself, and coming of the first "wave" of humans to embrace their Jötunn mates, complete with the Chastisement of Ronald Weasley, the event that resulted in him becoming the seal-mate of Snorre.

Laufey had to smile quite a bit at the detail and thoroughness of his people's carved reliefs. He admired their passion for the stories of their history and he could see that they had left _nothing_ out, even it was a little embarrassing for certain involved parties. "Good work, everyone," he said, clapping a few of the workers on the back. "We shall fill the waters with a wide selection of delicacies from the deepest depths of our seas, tomorrow after everyone has had a full night's rest. Be sure to take a bundle of the whale meat and blubber from the pile provided by our very own Severus—who seems to want to outdo everyone by bringing back white-finned ice whales for us instead of seals."

Chuckles went through the workers as they picked up a bundle before heading off to their mates and children.

"You're a good hunter, friend Severus," many of them said, clapping the new Jötunn on the back as they passed. "I and my family thank you for your most plentiful hunt."

As multiple Jötunn children jumped into Severus' arms and hugged him tightly, thanking him, the old Potion's Master's face grew a shade of aubergine. "Thank you, Hunter Severus!" they chimed, attacking him with hugs and thanks.

Laufey chuckled, smiling. It was good to see his people smiling with food being plentiful. The goddess was truly smiling down on them.

A loud crash came from the shelter of the guest, Arthur Weasley, and Laufey saw the man knocking the bowl of food that Astera had brought him as he practically fled from her.

Laufey sighed loudly. Something _had_ to be done soon before the human killed himself accidentally and Astera ended up mourning his loss.

"Severus."

"Yes, my king?"

"I have a task for you."

* * *

Astera sat with Hermione at the edge of the fountain, revelling at the filled waters.

"It's hard to believe this was empty just yesterday," Astera said.

Hermione smiled. "Our goddess rewards us for ingenuity as well as such things that help us help ourselves without harming the natural cycle."

Astera nodded. "I am glad to see such miracles more often than when our previous king was in charge."

Hermione shook her head and sighed. "The old king was a person who always put his selfish desires ahead of the needs of his people. While I am not pleased with _how_ he became king, I am not unhappy that he is."

"Hermione?"

"Hrm?"

"Why does he try so hard _not_ to adjust to us?" Astera asked a little timidly. "He even throws food at me."

"I believe he fears what you represent, Astera," Hermione said. "You are everything he wants, but that is a frightening thing for one such as he, who has sired seven children with the wife of another world."

"He is married?" Astera gasped. "How is this even _possible_? I mean, I see Fred and George, but I thought—I do not feel or sense a marriage bond with him! I would _NEVER—_ "

"Peace, Astera," Hermione soothed. "Humans often feel that marriage is their only option when a child is on the way outside of wedlock. And.. mating often happens with humans without a mating bond. That is—"

Hermione sighed. "I found on during holidays, when I was listening to the adults talk around the fire. I was practicing my Animagus form, which was a Eurasian lynx then. Much smaller. Stealthier… not so difficult to hide than a massive frost-sabre or a bloody Jötunheimr beast! Sirius was chiding Arthur for not being able to control his libido, and that every time he thought about separating, he'd seal his fate with another child. In magical Britain, the place we came from, it is expected for a male to do the honourable thing and marry a female he impregnated, but that does not _always_ mean a lasting love."

"They mated, but they had no true bond?" Astera asked.

"I think, they desperately wanted it to be there, and they put on a good face for their children. Arthur was quite a dutiful father. He took care of them the best he could, but Molly always wanted more for her family. More money, more prestige, more time together. Arthur worked very hard but was rarely home, and that took a toll on them," Hermione said with a sad smile. "My parents were not magical. There was no magic binding them, but I never once doubted their love for each other. They were both hard workers, and they understood that about each other. But sometimes, no matter how well you might work together to make things work, there is no fire. Attraction, lust, perhaps, but not the same drive that causes our males to obsess over proving themselves worthy of _her_ , the one and only female for him."

"Human life sounds so very confusing," Astera said with a frown.

"Arthur is desperately trying to hold on to his honour, thinking that he must cling desperately to his old life, even though, deep down inside, he knows it was a lie, that he and Molly only had a sham of a marriage. I know it is was a lie. _He_ knows it was a lie, but—live a lie long enough and you start to believe it, or worse you think it is the best thing, maybe the only thing, you will ever get."

"So, he has," Astera searched for the right word, " _cabbage?_ "

" _Baggage_ ," Hermione corrected her English. "Yes."

"I've waiting a really long time," Astera sighed. " Finally the right one falls down from the sky, and he has cabbage."

Hermione laughed despite herself, not even wanting to correct her. Now and forevermore, Arthur Weasley had cabbage.

"As I recall, my love, you called _me_ a cabbage once," Loki purred, leaning down to kiss her.

"I was mispronouncing the Asgardian words!" Hermione protested.

"Mmmhmmm," Loki began a slow gnaw of her neck. "Mispronounce them again, my love."

" _ **Hnnggggh!"**_ Hermione gasped.

"Close enough," Loki purred, pouncing on her and pressing her into a seal skin he had conjured out of nowhere.

Hermione murred, arching up into him.

"You know," Loki breathed into her ear. "We could always make things interesting by teaching you how to shapeshift."

Hermione eyes slid to the side as she pondered the possibilities. "More than just being an Animagus?"

"Why be so limited?" Loki pouted, sticking out his lower lip. "You _could_ be a goddess."

Hermione smiled mischievously. "How about starting with a pair of seawolf whales?"

Loki's answering grin spread from ear-to-ear. "Mmmmmm, lessons begin right after I finish making you scream my name."

Hermione gasped. "We're in a _shrine_ for the Great Frost Mother!"

Loki smiled, "I'm sure she'll heartily approve of the show, especially considering that she wants us to help bring in the next generation of Jötunn." He descended upon her with a heated kiss, and Hermione promptly lost every single coherent thought she might have had before that point.

Astera left an offering at the feet of the Great Frost Mother's statue as she sent up a whispered prayer that Arthur would soon see reason and then silently slipped away, leaving the goddess' priestess and her mate to christen the grounds with offerings of their undeniable passion.

* * *

"Sit. Down. _**Now**_ ," Severus commanded as he pushed his way into Arthur's shelter.

Arthur, who hadn't exactly been immune to Severus' intimidating nature back when he was only human, definitely found himself struggling not to obey the almost thirty-five foot Jötunn—and failing miserably. He sat on one of the smaller chairs that Hermione had crafted for him as Severus took a seat on the edge of one of the ice-beds, taking up an expanse of empty space made for a full-sized Jötunn with a little more thanks to his robes—if anyone was incapable of being recognised in this place, it was Severus Snape.

Snape looked around, eyes narrowing, seeing a distinctive lack of spider caretakers—who normally made themselves as busy as house-elves to keep the shelters clean and weave fabrics for the Jötunn village.

"You need to sit down and think about what your heart is trying to browbeat into your head before you manage to send one of the kindest, most compassionate women in this village out to the wastes in tears," Severus said. "You've managed to drive every frost-spider in Jötunheimr away from your shelter, burn the whiskers off poor Tryggr, and singe Bjørn badly enough that he'd rather relieve himself directly outside of your shelter than bring you food and supplies for Hermione, and Bjørn does _**NOT**_ disobey Hermione. Ever. The children think you are one rude son of a bitch because you throw food that Astera has made for you—and she is one of the very _best_ cooks—out into the snows. You've managed, and I have no idea _**how**_ , made your reputation even worse than mine was at Hogwarts in far less time, and our King wants to know why the fuck you are refusing every single bit of hospitality given to you when you can't even hunt for yourself without getting an ice-shark trying to make you an appetizer."

Arthur scrunched up his face and slumped. "Molly sent me here to find Ronald. George told me it wasn't a good idea to go plunging into—well, even _sneaking_ in to see it—George warned me that it was dangerous. He knew Fred was over here and he desperately wanted to go in, but he knew if they hadn't come back, there was probably a really good reason."

Arthur groaned. "I pushed him aside in order to get by him. It was _**my**_ fault that he ended here! And now he's—he's—he'd never going to be able to go back!"

Severus raised a brow. "What makes you think he even wants to?"

"Of course he wants to! It's his home! His mother is worried sick about him for sure!" Arthur insisted.

"So?" Severus said bluntly. "Do not make the mistake of assuming that your sons share your weeping sense of guilt. Did they not come here attempting to introduce you to their new mates? Did you somehow miss them entertaining the children out in the village and making plans for the future?"

"Sons?"

"Merlin's desiccated bollocks, Arthur," Severus snarled. "Do you not _**recognise**_ your own sons?"

"I—it _can't_ be," Arthur stammered, shaking his head in vehement denial.

"Let me tell you a story, Arthur," Severus said, his voice taking on the deeper, clipped tone he often used to chastise students for being complete dunderheads. "This is one you would have already _**known**_ _,_ had you bothered to get to know these people instead of adamantly clinging to your farce of a happy life back with Molly."

"About two thousand years ago, a young human witch fell out of the skies into Jötunheimr, this place, Arthur. Stop squirming, that sticking charm isn't going to let you go until I permit it," Severus scoffed. "Are you listening _**now**_?"

Arthur fidgeted. "Yes."

"When this witch fell here, she landed in the heart of these people's village, back when it was at the foot of a great glacier, and she was very afraid. She was adopted by the healer here, trained to take care of their people, and after hundreds of years, truly became one of the people in her heart. She has suffered through loss, the murder of her mother, heartbreak, and the threat of her adopted people swallowed by the sea. She learned the language, the people, the culture—and most of all she learned to hold their goddess in her heart. That witch, Arthur, was Hermione Granger—thrown into a swirling portal by none other than your brat of a son, Ronald Weasley. Why? Because she said no to his proposal."

Arthur looked as if he was going to say something, and Severus silenced him with a look.

"Now, when the Unspeakables came here to rescue Hermione, not realising she had been thrown back in time some few thousand years earlier to Jötunheimr, they found something they had not expected. Their mates—someone so compatible to them that the barrier of species was undone. By the time Hermione and her mate came back from rescuing me, as was the original plan, she came home to see the entire rescue party had been rescued by their Jötunn mates—just not quite what she had been expecting."

"Now, before I release your arse from that chair, Arthur, I'm giving you a gift, one which you had best appreciate considering Hermione did not have to give them for any reason, least of all you, but she she cares about her people, and for some sodding reason, she still cares about you."

Severus plunked down a bowl onto a pedestal and set a "small" vial of memories down. "This is the history of these people as seen by Hermione Granger, Arthur. All two thousand years broken down into key moments so you will actually not expire before you see them all. When you reach the end, the seal on your rear to this chair will release."

Severus plunked down a platter of food. "Astera made you food, and I hope by the time you go through these memories you will have the balls to go out there and thank her for it." The scowling potions master tugged his robes around himself habitually. "For your sake, I hope you manage to go through them all without resisting lest you soil yourself while stuck to this chair."

Severus swept the shelter, pausing only to close the door to keep the frigid wind from freezing Arthur in more ways than was healthy.

* * *

"Fred, George," Hermione said, pulling them in closer by the ear. "Did you two just happen to relieve your father of his loincloth and made it so he had to trek across the entire village to the shrine to retrieve it, wearing nothing but his bedsheet?"

"Granger, who would do such a terrible thing?" the twins feigned total innocence, albeit rather unsuccessfully.

"Maybe a pair of someones who left glowing icons shaped like a pair of trousers leading directly to the shrine," Hermione said with an almost-haughty lift of her brow.

The twins gasped together. "Granger, how could you even _think_ of blaming us for tormenting our poor, previously guilt-ridden father?"

"You have a long way to go to pull the frost-spiders over her eyes," Loki said. "Not that I didn't appreciate the show."

Hermione conked both twins' heads together. "I know you two. I've known for a very, very long time."

"It was great though, wasn't it?" Fred said, wiggling his eyebrows.

"It was spectacular," George said with a grin.

"Hey, Severus," the twins said.

Snape looked up from where he was carving runes into a spear. "Hn?"

"Thanks," they said together.

"He wouldn't listen to us," Fred said.

"He wouldn't even take in that Fred was Fred," George said.

Fred sighed. "We've known mum and dad haven't been _really_ together for years. Their not fessing is what drove Percy away. Well, Charlie first, then Percy found out. They figured if mum and dad couldn't stop lying to each other, what kept them from lying about more important things."

"Now Fred and I," George said. "We've always known, and Bill knows too, but we've just been hoping they would finally pull their heads out of their arses and come clean, yeah?"

Hermione clucked her tongue. "I'm sure on paper, their reasoning looked pretty sound. If they had told you and it had gotten out to someone like Rita Skeeter, I can only imagine what stress your father would've been put under if people were to find out that his union with your mother didn't even result in a magical bond."

Fred and George frowned, considering Hermione's point.

"Yeah, everyone knows Skeeter would have made it look like far worse than it was. We kids, we knew both mum and dad loved us, and we knew they at least liked each other enough that they kept having more of us." Fred looked toward the shrine and closed his eyes.

"Mum always wanted a girl," George said. "If there was one thing she really wanted in life it was a girl child. I'm not saying she didn't love _us_ , but you could tell she wanted a child that she could really understand."

"I'm thinking Mum didn't really believe she had a complete family until Gin-Gin came along, and she pretty much stopped smothering Ron the moment Ginny was born. Maybe Ron thought Ginny stole something from him. I don't know, but he was always Icky Ronnikins."

"I thought you called him Ickle Ronniekins," Hermione chuckled.

"We _did_ ," Fred and George said together.

"Until we caught him masturbating in the closet over the Cannon's calendar," George added, turning a strange shade of blue-green.

"Oh—ugh— _ **stop!**_ " Hermione waved her hands frantically in denial. "I could have gone my entire life without ever having known _**that**_."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and groaned. "Just, don't prank your father too much until we know Astera is pregnant. He's still very new to everything, and he probably won't even realise he has some new instincts until he accidentally almost kills someone while rushing to get back to his mate. Magnus is watching over him, but he's trying not to get to close until we can get one of the larger females to keep watch over him. Unfortunately, none of the others even want to be near him thanks to his—problems earlier."

Fred and George weren't quite listening to her, as they were trying to surreptitiously bind Loki's feet together so he'd trip when he walked.

Hermione sniffed. " _ **Oi!**_ You two listening?"

"Sure, Granger," they replied. "Don't prank dad for a while, got it. We heard you."

A grinning Loki leaned over to whisper something in Hermione's ear.

"Already?" Hermione stood up. "Sorry, boys, I have to go. Have to attend to a small family dispute. Do _try_ not blow anything up."

Fred and George wore very their best halos as Hermione looped her arm around Loki's and drifted off into the snow. The twins stood up, frowning as Loki did not trip and fall as they had hoped. They turned and walked off in search of more trouble to stir up when they both tripped and fell flat on their faces into the fully stocked "snacking" fountain. As they both pulled their heads up to stare suspiciously at the other, each found that they had a rather large two-headed octopus clamped firmly onto their face.

"How the—" Fred spluttered.

George struggled to pry the tentacles off of his face to little avail.

Severus, having watched the entire episode as he carved his spear, fully enjoyed the moment, a crack of a smile spreading across his typically stern face.

Meanwhile, as Loki escorted his lady wife to her next appointment, his lips curved into a devilish smile. "Amateurs."

A Jötunn child hopped up into Severus' lap. "Hi, Severus! Can I watch?"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "As long as you keep your hands to yourself."

"I will," the child said, snuggling happily against his chest.

Severus sighed and continued his work, trying to ignore the strange sense of peace as the child's body pressed against his in contentment to watch anything and everything that he did.

"Hey! Who filled up this ruddy fountain!" George blurted as he spat out a mouthful of seawater.

Silence was his only answer, save for the twinkle in the eyes of the statue of the Great Frost Mother.

Elsewhere in the village, Hermione paused, her face twisting into a smug smile. "Amateurs."

* * *

The twins, unable to prank their father until his mate was well and truly pregnant—both twins lamenting that in being intimately familiar with Weasley genetics, she was already pregnant with a litter—decided that they needed to make sure this so-called 'God of Mischief' named Loki realised that _**they**_ were the king pranksters, by gum, and they were going to prove it!

As each day passed, however, all of their pranks, from tampered food, trip wires, itching powder, wildly colour-changing dye, to even the jinx that turned Loki's clothes invisible, nothing seemed faze him one iota. Turning Loki's clothes invisible actually made him quite insufferable, and worse, no one in the Jötunn village even seemed to _notice_. Well, save for Hermione, who couldn't seem get the guy back to their cave fast enough.

They tried to trip him up into a pile of clams and oysters the hunters were preparing for their mates, and Loki just sat down with them and helped them prepare the pile. They woke up the next day with their hair down to their ankles and all of it was full of clams and oysters using their hair as a habitat. Worse, every time a female Jötunn walked by, they plucked one off a snack, thanking them for being a walking, craving-satisfying snackbar. They tried to tint Severus' robes pink, and the next day, they woke up dressed like ballerinas, complete with glittery tutus, a star-tipped wand, and intricately bound ballet shoes. They jinxed Laufey's spear to be invisible, and that night they couldn't get into their shelters due to it being blocked by—an invisible whale. Meanwhile the elders and other hunters talked and socialised around the tribal fire, seemingly oblivious to their problem. When Fred got the brilliant idea to cut his way through, a few tons of whale entrails spilled out, and their mates refused to even deal with them until they had purged themselves and their shelter of the stench.

When they tried to steal some urchins from Hermione's special tanks, they were chased out of the cave by a rampaging horde of highly detailed, animated replicas of some sort of terrifying fish with red bellies, very sharp teeth, and the intense desire to sink them into Fred and George's skin. They tied a bell on Tryggr, and that night they had to listen to the non-stop jingle as Tryggr made the most glorious love to his own newfound mate, whom he had brought back just so they could copulate repeatedly on top of their shelter. Every little movement causing the distinctive ting, ting, ta-ting of the bell, driving Fred and George stark, raving mad. When they finally burst out from the shelters to yell at Tryggr, however, their own mates admonished them for making excessive noise.

"Don't you hear that maddening tinging sound?" George yelled

"It's maddening!" Fred complained.

"No, all I hear are you two ridiculous dunderheads attempting to wake up the entire village," Severus said, dragging a whale carcass behind him. "Go be insufferable—silently—somewhere _else_."

The twins emerged the next day, eyes bleary and with huge dark circles under them, only to stumble upon a group of young children playing with their new friends: the "adorable" grey-backed, red-bellied chomping fish that had chased after Fred and George, only to be enthusiastically adopted by the children of the village. The children were hugging them and carrying them around together—best friends for life. Yet, the moment the mysteriously adorable yet vicious fish saw Fred and George, they tore off after them, jaws snapping at their heels—or anything fleshy they could take a chunk out of.

"Why are you sitting on top of your shelter?" Arthur asked as he walked by. He picked up one of the plush and adorable red-bellied fish, and it cooed at him. "These things are adorable," he said, affectionately rubbing one under the chin.

"Long story," Fred and George replied sourly.

Suddenly, one of the fish seemed to realise that someone had made them a convenient ramp up to the top of shelter, and they all bounced off the silken ramp to the roof.

" _ **AHHHHHHHHHHHH!"**_ the twins cried, tumbling off the shelter roof and running away, with an impressive collection of chomping, agitated red-bellied chomping fish chasing after them.

Gimle, Fred's mate, poked her head out of the shelter. "Have you seen Fred?"

"He went running for his life in that direction, chased by a pack of ravenous fish-looking creatures," Arthur said, his manner utterly deadpan as he pointed in the direction of the most distant ice floes.

Gimle blinked. "Oh, well I guess _**I**_ get to choose what's for dinner," she said, picking up her spear and heading off to the wastes.

Arthur raised a brow. "Some _one_ is going to be sleeping on the couch tonight."

* * *

Hermione leaned into Loki as he stood on the edge of the village, his spear clutched in his hand as though he anticipated trouble. "What is troubling you, love?" she asked.

Loki frowned, but he wrapped his arm around her, pressing his face into her hair. "I worry that Ásgarðr may come looking for me if I do not make an appearance," he said grimly. "It has been many moons, and it will worry mother if nothing else. Father will be more than a little irritated that I ran away from my wedding, if dear Sigyn has anything to say about it."

Hermione scowled, one hand rubbing Tryggr's ears with a massaging motion. "I do _**not**_ look forward to another confrontation with Ásgarðr," Hermione said after a while. "The first one did not go well."

Loki turned to her, brushing the hair from her face. "I do not think it will end as it once did, Hermione."

"Only if Odin attempts to put a spear through your back while he tries to conquer Jötunheimr," Hermione muttered.

"Your concern for me—" Loki pressed his forehead to hers. "I have never felt such genuine emotion on my behalf, save from my lady mother, and even she always kept her emotions carefully reined in more often than she showed them."

Hermione looked out across the blowing snow. "Perhaps, we can give back something Ásgarðr has long since believed our people responsible for—rather, they believe it is _our_ fault he is dead." Her eyes shimmered with golden flecks, like blowing sand, the Mark of the Great Frost Mother glowing upon her forehead.

Loki looked at her in disbelief. "You would release your curse upon Bör? Why?"

"At the time I met Bör, Ásgarðr had given me nothing but pain and suffering, but then Ásgarðr gave me something far more priceless. _You_."

Hermione's eyes locked with his. "I would give Ásgarðr back their king of old," she said calmly. "That they may know the truth of what happened at the beginning of the Ásgarðr-Jötunn war. Odin may have believed that he forced a peace, but he may not realise that he was only putting a bandage on a wound created by his own father."

Loki frowned. "After seeing Bör in your memories, Hermione, I doubt he will go back to Ásgarðr telling them what he has learnt spending decades as snow in the wind."

Hermione smiled. "Truth, my love, _will_ find him. Trust me on that."

* * *

 _Dear Father,_

 _I apologise for not writing to you and Mother sooner, but I have been recuperating from several serious abdominal wounds after being repeatedly stabbed and tossed bodily into the Bifröst. I fear that I do not remember much, save for that the Jötunn rescued me from the snow and frigid cold, and their care has been instrumental in my recovery._

 _I do know, before I was injured, that I was to marry Lady Sigyn, and I would ask that you bring her to me on Jötunheimr that we might be married at once. I fear I cannot return home at this moment for in thanks for their saving my life, I have dedicated myself in helping bridge the yawning chasm between Ásgarðr and Jötunheimr by helping rebuild the ancient bridge that once connected Jötunheimr to the Bifrost, for there was much I did not know of this place until it was I saw it with my own eyes._

 _I beg of you, please agree to meet me one week hence, where the monument of the war's beginning still stands and let us forge upon the birthplace of a war something that bridges our species together. For the sake of lasting peace, All-Father, I dutifully beseech you as your son for you to join me here for the meeting. I have discovered something of interest that may change a great many things._

 _Your loving son,_

 _Loki_

* * *

As the Bifröst slammed down over the frozen land, the Asgardian diplomatic party arrived, all looking quite nervous as to what they should do if it should turn out to be a trap. Jötunheimr and its people had many, many dark stories. The All-speech did not work in Jötunheimr—the quantity of Asgardians able to speak Jötunn were very small indeed. Stories were told by Asgardians to Asgardians, and so it had always been since the first Asgardian stepped foot into the frozen wastes of Jötunheimr.

The truth was, no one in Ásgarðr _wanted_ Jötunheimr. It was an inhospitable frozen wasteland. It froze your bones faster than any other place in the Realms, and there was nothing about _that_ was worth fighting over.

So, _why_ had they started a war to begin with?

When Bör had died, word eventually came back to Ásgarðr and to Odin that his father had never returned from his attempt to ensure the giants would never threaten Ásgarðr. Odin began to have terrible visions of his father beseeching him to find a powerful sorcerer to save him from the eternal snows, but every dream's end had Bör turning into snow. Every winter, Odin would awaken in a cold sweat, his father having come back to haunt him in his dreams, warning him that the giants would be the end of Ásgarðr—the very end of the gods.

Odin, for the most part, had listened, making war on the Jötunn until he had beaten the supposed Jötunn king by bringing down his castle. That, however, was where he had found Loki's mother, letting out her last breath as she clutched her swollen abdomen. Torn for the life of the truly innocent, Odin cut the baby from her womb and took him home with him. And the moment Ásgarðr's temperate climate embraced the baby, his skin and eyes changed to that of an Asgardian. Odin had promptly named him Loki, the trickster, on the spot and then bade his wife Frigga to take him as their son. In that moment, Odin had defied his father's haunting demand.

Peace was ongoing yet quite tenuous, but the Jötunn retreated from the ancient gateway that had connected Jötunheimr to the Bifröst, and Odin had destroyed it so the only time Asgardians could come to Jötunheimr was from Ásgarðr itself, and the Jötunn could not threaten Ásgarðr in retaliation. No thought was given as to just why the gate had even existed in the first place or who had built it. No one thought to remember that never once in all the years before then had the Jötunn ever come knocking on Ásgarðr's walls, yet somehow the paranoia remained.

And, Odin, at least to himself, pondered that perhaps his choice to keep Loki's true parentage a secret could backfire if anyone found out, as he was not advocating the changing of his own people's long-held beliefs. No, he let them believe what they had come to believe: that the Jötunn would bring Ragnarök to Ásgarðr.

The death of the gods.

Yet, legend said that Ragnarök had happened many times before. The gods _always_ died. The universe was _always_ remade. That was the unending cycle. That was life. But Bör had taken the cup from his father, and Odin had taken it from his. They all struggled to end the cycle and find a way to stave off Ragnarök. They didn't want the gods to die anymore. They liked the universe just as it was. It wasn't fair that the "other" gods lived forever while they kept dying in an endless cycle. They wanted to remain safe in Ásgarðr. They wanted the Realms to remain safe from each other. Let them destroy themselves, if they so wished, but keep them apart so they could not bring war to Ásgarðr.

So Odin had discovered Idunn and her golden apples of immortality. He appointed Lady Idunn to be the Keeper of the Golden Apples, thinking he had finally discovered the key to his people's survival. He found the old writings of his great grandfather, detailing how he had influenced the people of Miðgarðr to manipulate their climate and drive the giants from their world.

But _why_?

The Ice Age had fallen over Miðgarðr, and frost giants had emerged supreme. They taught the humans how to hunt in the bitter snows. They taught them how to survive, and they brought with them their supposed goddess, which they taught the humans to honour. People began to travel across the snows and spread farther than ever before, and they began to forget their "true gods" in favour of this usurping goddess. Worse still, couplings began between the giants and the humans, the goddess "blessing" them by transforming the puny, weak mortals into Jötunn. And the Jötunn were breeding, spreading their faith to a non-Asgardian goddess.

So, the Asgardian king came down to Miðgarðr and stirred up the holy people, the magicals, and the hedge-wizards. He had them come together to change their world and bring an end to the age of ice.

And they had.

The ice began to retreat. The massive glaciers started to melt. The growing cap of ice and snow fell away.

The so-called goddess created Jötunheimr—a land that was inhospitable to all others who hated and feared the cold. She had subsequently transported her chosen "people" to Jötunheimr, creating a realm to join the others in its own frozen independence.

And the Asgardians believed that was the last of the Jötunn and the threat to the dissolving faith in favour of this frozen goddess. Let them rot in the snows of that frozen wasteland. Ásgarðr remained warm and beautiful.

Until Bör realised that Jötunheimr was still connected to the Bifröst.

Bör did not want those of Jötunheimr to have access to the Bifröst, no. If they _did_ , they could travel to other realms or return to Earth's cold places and begin again what they had almost done during the Ice Age: brought about Ragnarök, the death of the gods. Bör traveled to Jötunheimr and set off to conquer the heathen people, but he hadn't not returned, save in spirit to haunt his son.

The truth had been buried under a hundred, thousand historical lies to protect the people of Ásgarðr. Long before Odin and long before Bör, the seeds for such deceit had been planted and taken root. All of this had been for one purpose alone, to prevent the death of the gods.

For they had seen it so very clearly. If the Jötunn converted Miðgarðr, their numbers would be far too great for them to be easily controlled. Their faith would be far too empowering, and that usurping goddess would become a _real_ goddess, while they, the proud Asgardian gods, would be left behind and forgotten.

But only the high scholars knew of this from reading the ancient texts, and the scholars knew better than to voice different opinions in circles outside their own educational tier. The histories continued to be written in two languages: the victors and the truth, only the truth remains buried lest the scholars end up dead. They continued to write about it, but only in secret, burying it under countless lies and obscure philosophical blathering.

Odin frowned.

He had dismissed _all_ of it as philosophical blathering, so much so that the truth was buried under so much possible truth and untruth that he didn't know what to think. What was he supposed to think?

New goddess rises up and steals all the faith?

 _Please_. That couldn't be the _real_ story.

The Asgardians had been gods since before the Realms themselves were even created. Ragnarök had come and gone. The old gods had died, yes, but—surely they had evolved by now? Surely they had grown strong enough that they need not fear Ragnarök anymore? This tremendous hatred towards the Jötunn—was it all in his head, thanks to his father?

Everyone knew, at least, where the war had begun on Jötunheimr. The area was but a massive crater the likes of which the snow and ice only made seem even more intimidating. Enormous jagged blades of ice sprouted up from the outer bowl, sheltering the inside of crater from the ravages of the ice, snow, and wind. It was in the middle of the bowl, so long ago, Odin had come across snow blowing through his father's armor and believed his father to be dead. It was shortly after leaving Jötunheimr, that Odin was first haunted by the spirit of his father, demanding bloody vengeance and a sorcerer who could bring an end his torment.

But no Asgardian sorcerer or sorceress wanted to go to Jötunheimr for fear of freezing to death before they could even get where they needed to go—that and something very… strange protected Jötunheimr. Asgardian magic was more difficult there, perhaps because the shockingly bitter cold stymied all attempts to focus and concentrate, or perhaps for some other reason. Regardless of the reason—the very land and climate of Jötunheimr seemed to rise up to protect its denizens. The cold seeped into your bones even through multiple layers of clothes. The frigid air tried to freeze your lungs whenever you breathed it in. Surviving such harsh, unforgiving conditions was a true feat of strength, and everything that did was, nay, _had_ to be larger than life.

Odin felt a flutter in his stomach as he realised he would be seeing Loki again soon—out here in the frozen wastes he had been born into. He would most likely be—acclimatised to his native environment by now. How was this going to go over with his people? Frigga knew. Thor knew because Frigga had told him. But what of Sigyn?

Sigyn looked like she was about to vomit all over the pristine, snow-covered ground. Her face was both blue from the cold and a sickly green from what Odin could only assume was due to some sort of food-related distress or perhaps psychological stress. Some of the oldest royal guards knew about Loki's past, their families having served the royal family for generations. They just didn't speak about it, because they knew that to break confidence with the royal family was a great way to get kicked out of Ásgarðr—or worse. Yet Sigyn herself _didn't_ know about Loki's true lineage.

Or _did_ she?

He was sure that Frigga had her doubts. Odin could tell by the way his lady wife watched Sigyn like a hawk. They said that Heimdall saw everything—but Odin knew that wasn't entirely true. There were some things Heimdall could not see, just as Odin could not see the future clearly. Frigga may not have the sort of sight as Heimdall, but she too missed very little.

And Thor—Thor was watching Sigyn as though he expected her to mutate into some sort of flesh-eating giant troll at a moment's notice. It wasn't really _like_ Thor to look at a lady with the same look he used to evaluate someone or some _thing_ he was prepared to take Mjölnir to.

Odin frowned. Sigyn was indeed the last known person to have seen Loki prior to his abrupt disappearance. Supposedly. Sigyn _had_ claimed that Loki had gone with her out on one of the boats, but he had started teasing her by trying to rock the boat and tip her into the water. She had, according to her, hopped off to shore and walked back to the gardens using the island bridges. The boat had been found where she claimed it and Loki had had been— but then Loki had disappeared.

Loki, who was, hands down, the best swimmer in all of Ásgarðr—

Odin scowled. Soon, they would know.

As they walked into the intimidating crater, Odin realised that it had changed very little since the finding of Bör's empty armour. In his dreams, this place, too, had haunted him just like the ghost of his father. The jagged ice barrier around the crater gave him an unnerving sense of claustrophobia, their points looking more like spear tips than random ice projections. The snow blew around the bowl, never leaving thanks to the wall of ice, and he swore the snow itself was somehow _alive_ after watching how it seemed to try and escape with no avail.

"All-Father Odin," Laufey said from a frozen seat. "Long it has been since you came here, beating a young king whose mate was crushed to death under a great many tons of ice, rock, and snow. Does the peace still taste as sweet?"

"I am not here to break the treaty," Odin stated evenly.

"No, I suppose you are not," Laufey agreed. He gestured with his head, and Loki stepped out from behind Laufey's seat, standing barely high enough to reach the Jötunn's knees. "I believe you may have lost something. We found him— bleeding and broken in the snows. Our healer-priestess did bind his wounds and tend to him for a great many moons, and we have learned many things about what Ásgarðr believes of us, as well as what we have believed of Ásgarðr."

Loki stepped out to approach Odin. "All-Father," Loki said with a bow. "Have you brought Lady Sigyn? I do _so_ much wish to complete our marriage. It is my wish that I remain here to restore the sites tragically destroyed by the war, All-Father, and ensure a lasting peace between our peoples. I would have my wife at my side—a symbol of our mutual love—that we be a shining example that a true understanding is possible between our very different peoples."

"I thank you, King Laufey, for providing succor for my injured son," Odin said formally. "My son, what happened that caused you to fall injured and land here in Jötunheimr?"

"Alas, my father, I do not remember anything save for enjoying a most wonderful afternoon with my beloved Sigyn. The next thing I knew, I was waking up here, delirious and grievously wounded. I did most shamefully accost the healer thinking her the cause of my condition, and I have been paying penance for my shameful behaviour since."

"Loki has shown himself to be quite gracious in helping us repair the rift between our peoples, All-Father Odin— something I did not believe possible," Laufey said. "I would have him wedded here, in front of your party and my people, that peace may be sealed evermore."

"I see no problem with his, King Laufey," Odin said with a nod. He gestured his head, and the guards parted, exposing a pale, shivering Sigyn.

Loki held out his arm, palm up. "Sigyn, my love, let us now be wed. We shall forever drive the cold from your body with our most joyous union."

"No, no, no, no," Sigyn sputtered, shivering violently. "You're _**dead!**_ "

Loki patted himself down then quirked an eyebrow at the visibly distraught Sigyn. "I assure you, my love, I am very much alive. You have Priestess Healer Hermione to thank for my recovery." He gestured to the tall, attractive Jötunn female standing next to Laufey's seat. Her wild mane of hair was held in check by long, elegant warbraids, wrapped together with strands of fine, shimmering silk. She, much like Laufey, left very little to the imagination, her clothing covering very little of her body in the freezing wind, save for a thick fur wrapped snugly around her waist. The Jötunn, most of whom wore far less, eyed the Asgardian party with varying degrees of suspicion, perhaps wondering why _they_ were so overdressed.

Loki held out his hand, his face eager and welcoming. "Let us be wed, my love. Surely fate had smiled upon us to mend my injuries so that I might be with you." He closed the distance and reached out to brush her cheek with his hand. He lowered his head to give her a kiss.

" _ **NO! I will NOT be mated with some blue FREAK!"**_ Sigyn spat, stumbling back from him in revulsion and horror. " _ **Do not TOUCH me!"**_

Thor, Frigga, and Odin immediately turned to stare holes into Sigyn.

Odin, realising there was only one possible way that Sigyn could have known Loki was Jötunn was by having eavesdropped on his conversation with his wife regarding Loki's heritage. Frigga had protested that arranging a marriage for Loki was a bad idea. Neither he nor Sigyn knew of his heritage, and if the baby came out looking like a typical Jötunn infant, there would be— questions and drama, to put it mildly. Thor, however, was not being forced into marriage, and if anyone should have an arranged marriage, Thor should be the one, as the future king. The people would be talking. Why was he forcing Loki to marry and _not_ the eldest and most eligible son?

Odin's reasons, while seemingly sensible enough at the time, at least in his own mind, had started to crumble with the disappearance of his youngest son under rather suspicious circumstances. At first, he thought that perhaps Loki did not wish to marry for any reason and had gone off one of his many trips to the hidden places to brood over it, but when he didn't return or send word, he started to doubt it was a simple matter of brooding. Even Heimdall himself could no longer see him, and that was definitely not a normal state of affairs.

"Lady Sigyn," Odin said in a dangerously quiet tone of voice. "What is the meaning of this accusation?"

"You already _**know**_ , All-Father," Sigyn shrieked hysterically. "You've been trying to get me to marry a filthy, heathen Jötunn! Bind myself to one of _**THEM!**_ "

The gathering of Jötunn gripped their spears tightly, their crimson eyes glowing in the blowing snow.

" _ **Lady Sigyn!"**_ Odin roared. "You are a goddess and of Ásgarðr. Regardless of whether your accusations are true, Loki is my son and a prince of Ásgarðr. You have been arranged for marriage by both Iwaldi and Freya by their mutual consent and desire!"

"I _**refuse**_ to marry a _**lie!**_ Had my parents known he was a blue _**freak**_ , they would _**never**_ have agreed! I was and _**am**_ betrothed to Theoric! Long _**before**_ my parents agreed to your little charade!"

Many eyes turned to face Theoric, one of Odin's own Crimson Hawks.

The Crimson Hawk swallowed hard. "Tis true that I proposed to Lady Sigyn before her betrothal to Prince Loki, All-Father," he said, "but I believed it to be moot the moment she became engaged to the prince."

"I _**agreed!**_ " Sigyn protested. "He was my _**true**_ betrothed!"

"Yet you said nothing of this until now, Lady Sigyn," Frigga said darkly. "Not even one mention of your lament until now. Why is that?"

"Theoric," Odin snapped. "At any time after her engagement to my son, did she meet with you for _**any**_ reason?"

Theoric shook his head adamantly. "No, All-Father. She ignored me in all ways."

Sigyn twitched under Frigga's scrutiny. "He is not even your son!"

Frigga scowled. "Loki _**is**_ my son. Did I not raise him? Did I not tend his wounds when he was injured? Teach him the ways of magic? Pick him up when he fell? Soothe his nightmares? Praise his accomplishments?"

"How _**could**_ you! How could you _**betray**_ your own people!" Sigyn yelled.

The ice barrier around them shimmered to life as the image of Sigyn standing with Loki on the lake boat came to live in a blazing swirl of colour and sound.

" _I heard you parents talking,_ _ **PRINCE**_ _Loki. You're not even truly their son! You're_ _ **NOT**_ _one of us!"_

" _Sigyn, what in_ _ **Helheim**_ _are you_ _ **talking**_ _about—?"_

" _I will_ _ **never**_ _marry you. I will not bind myself to some blue, red-eyed_ _ **freak**_ _!"_

 _Sigyn viciously thrust her dagger into Loki again and again. Loki grabbed his abdomen, his face completely twisted in shock and disbelief. She plunged it deep one last time and then kicked him overboard into the swirling whirlpool. Sigyn's face disappeared in a swirl of choking water as Loki was pulled deep into the vortex, his lifeblood staining the water red._

" _ **That is a lie!"**_ Sigyn yelled. " _ **You made all of this up!"**_

"Magnus," Laufey called out. "Bring me what you found with him when you carried him in from the snows."

A huge wall of a Jötunn walked forward carrying a bundle wrapped in sealskin. His eyes flicked to the repeating memory projected on the ice wall and back to Sigyn. He slowly offered it to Odin. Odin's personal guard rushed up, taking the bundle for him.

Magnus narrowed his eyes at the Crimson Hawks but turned and walked back to the other Jötunn.

The guard unwrapped the skin from the bundle and exposed an ornate dagger, emblazoned with the crests of Sigyn's family. The dagger was heavily stained with dried blood.

"You're setting me up!" Sigyn protested.

"I recognise that dagger, father," Thor said grimly. "Many times has she trained with us using her family blade. She said it was the only weapon suitable for her hands. She would use no other."

"This is just a Jötunn trick! You _**know**_ our magic does not work here!" Sigyn yelled.

Frigga passed her hand over the dagger. "This is of Asgardian make. There is no magic within it to dispel."

Sigyn seemed to realised that her excuses were falling on deaf ears, but the sight of Loki with his hand out seemed to feed the fuel of her inner desperation. She flung the guards around her away with her surprise rage, and made a run for it into the depths of the swirling snow.

The guards moved to apprehend her, but Odin held out his hand. "No. Leave her Jötunheimr. If she is truly a goddess, she will survive and make her way back to Ásgarðr, where _**I**_ will deal with her. If not, let this land test her mettle and find her unworthy. If this does not displease you, King Laufey?"

Laufey's crimson eyes seemed to glow, but he stomped his spear on the ground to express his approval. "Let the Great Frost Mother test and judge her by her _own_ rules," he said grimly. "But now there is no marriage to broker the peace between us. Would one of yours be willing to live their life with us and be the bridge to Ásgarðr. Would one of yours would marry one of us to cement our peace? Which one of your people remain unbetrothed that would be willing to bind their lives to ours as an example to both our peoples that peace is more than just a treaty forged in force."

Nervous murmurs ran through the Asgardians.

Loki stepped up. " _ **I**_ will do this. I have learned many new things in a very short time, but I would rather stay here and bring peace between our peoples than let some other who has not learned the truth, do so blindly."

"This is no small thing, prince of Ásgarðr," Laufey said sternly. "This is no mere whim you can take back in a week or a year after you get bored or tired of the snows. Take a mate here, and it will forever change you, and there will be no going back to what once was."

"Father!" Thor hissed, pushing his way to Odin. "Are you just going to _let_ him—?"

"Have you a better idea, my son?" Odin asked him, meeting his elder son's eyes. "Would you wish yourself to be mated in his place?"

Thor swallowed hard and stepped back.

Loki, who had his back to Thor, just smiled as he looked up at Laufey. "I fully understand what you ask and what I have agreed to."

"As you wish, little prince," Laufey said. "Which of you find this small Asgardian to be worthy of mind and heart, that you would wish to take him as a mate? Are there any of you not mated who can hold a spear without falling upon it?"

"After having witnessed a many matings, my king," Magnus said. "I can attest that the number of eligible females has declined quite drastically of late. The few who are, either hunt upon the floes or are back in the village."

Laufey scowled. "No one, then? No one who would broker this peace between our peoples? Do I need to remind you what is at stake?"

The priestess healer sighed softly and stepped up. "I would test this young Asgardian's mettle to see if he can please me," she said, her eyes raking over Loki appraisingly. "In the time that has passed, I have come to see that he has much fight and cunning, but I would know if his _other_ staminas meet expectation."

The Jötunn gathered chuckled and snickered together.

" _ **Quiet!"**_ Laufey bellowed. "Priestess Healer, you do know what this will mean if the bond is proven true?"

"Aye, my king," she replied. "But if he is good enough to form a bond, then I will certainly trust the Great Frost Mother's divine judgement."

"May our Great Frost Mother make her final judgement," Laufey intoned, gesturing with his hand to the area directly in front of him.

Hermione unwrapped the warm sealskin from her waist and placed it down on the snow. She knelt down and gently extended her fingers to Loki. Loki walked up after squaring his shoulders, and placed his hands on her the back of her hands, touching the raised runic markings on her very blue skin.

Golden energy lit up her markings and flowed into Loki, and he gave a low groan as the markings spread onto him. His body doubled over, and a pulse of energy poured out from him as his body grew to accommodate his mate. His hands gripped her head and he lowered his mouth to hers in a heated kiss and articles of clothing dropped to the ground as a river of blue took over every inch of his body as red filled his eyes in a startling shade of crimson rubies. Loki ran his hands over every inch of her body before he claimed her in front of the startled Asgardian witnesses while the Jötunn all exchanged knowing smiles.

Laufey watched Odin very carefully but moved not an inch.

The Asgardians began to fidget uncomfortably as their prince unhesitatingly stripped off his clothing and proceeded to get down to business, seemingly working very intensely to get the loudest and most expressive reaction out of the Jötunn priestess. Loki's body had become entirely deep cobalt blue, his markings glowing brightly with a strange, almost prismatic glow of power in junction with her own. Thor tried desperately to look away from the sight of his younger brother having what seemed to be the best sex of his life, but he ended up looking at Sif, and the pair soon found themselves staring at each other with a hungry look in their eyes, their nostrils flaring and breath coming in increasingly short, needy gasps. Then they both stubbornly turned away, crossing their arms in front of themselves in a determined resolve to ignore the other.

After many uncomfortable minutes (at least for the Asgardians) Hermione let out a ecstatic shriek, signifying her "acceptance" of Loki's "proposal to become her mate" as a vivid lightshow of electromagnetic glory burst out from between them in a flare of colour and low hum like the thrum of a choir.

The figure of a great Jötunn female formed in the light, solidifying into a dark blue giantess with long white hair, who was wearing an intricate crown formed of ice. She stepped out of the colourful swirling light show, he bare feet setting down on the ice. Her eyes blazed in crimson fire as the markings on her body shifted and moved like the constellations.

"Let none break the peace that has been forged between your worlds this day, Kings Laufey and Odin," the goddess said, her eyes moving from one to the other. "For as surely as the frozen winds whip across the ice and snow of Jötunheimr, those who set out to break it shall be devoured by the great seawolf whale. But I will not be wholly blind to the ways of violence. Should violence come and prove to be unavoidable, I would not demand the innocent to stand and take a spear to the back."

The Jötunn all bowed their heads in respect as the goddess pulled a warm, fluffy fur over her priestess and her 'newfound' mate.

"In celebration of this momentous consummation of peace, I will give you back something that started that terrible war, oh so long ago," the goddess said, waving her hand. The snow began to swirl in front of them, forming into a humanoid form. "He, who cast the first spear into one of my most faithful healer's back and into the chest of the old king. I give you the one who brought about the start of the war: Bör, son of Buri, that you may decide, King Odin, which fate he truly deserves."

The goddess stepped back into the swirling light and disappeared.

The swirling snow spun about more and more frantically, and with a crunching sound like a footfall in the new-fallen snow, an entirely naked and unarmoured Bör Burison stood naked and exposed in the freezing cold of Jötunheimr.

Thor's eyes widened almost comically, and many of the Asgardians frantically turned away, whatever arousal they may have experienced while watching Loki with his "new" mate was utterly dashed by the sight of Bör Burison, standing in his starkers amidst the blinding snow.

Odin hissed at Thor, "Give him your cloak! Somebody give him some damned clothes!"

"But, my king, we _have_ no spare clothes!"

A tall, male Jötunn dressed in a long drape of black robes, curled his lip in an utterly disdainful look, waving his hand as if to dismiss someone from his presence. Clothes swirled around Bör, layering him with arctic rabbit fur underthings, elk skin leathers, sealskin boots, and an obnoxiously long red and gold scarf. Then, as if to accent the awkwardness, he added bright-furred mittens that made him look like he had pom-poms on his hands.

Odin's face twisted in conflict, somewhere between frank horror and nigh-sadistic glee. "Father," Odin intoned formally.

"What?" Bör blurted, feeling his body's strange new coverings. He whirled to face Laufey, who was still sitting on his throne of ice. "You! Bow to the king of Ásgarðr!" He spun, holding out his hand. "Give me your spear, guard!"

"I cannot, King... er…" the guard stammered, conflicted on what to call a previous king that was thought to be dead but suddenly wasn't.

"No," Odin enunciated quite clearly. "We will _**not**_ lift any weapons against Jötunheimr after my son has made the ultimate sacrifice to ensure peace between our people."

Loki took in a deep breath and pushed himself up off the ground. The thick, fluffy fur that had covered them conveniently covered their laps. Loki's dark cobalt skin glistened with golden markings, still resonating with powerful magic. His smug smile looked quite satisfied indeed.

" _ **My grandson is a vile, filthy, heathen Jotunn?!"**_ Bör roared.

Loki looked down, examining himself critically. "Oh, please. I _did_ bathe. Besides, I rather like the colour, and the sex was most excellent, grandfather. I'm quite certain she will be having your great grandchildren. Have you met my new wife?"

Bör's face grew red with anger and unmistakable rage. "I did _**not**_ carve our people's superiority over the Realms so you could _**fornicate**_ with these blue heathens and become one of them in the name of peace!"

Odin's face darkened and he narrowed his remaining eye. "I have been haunted by you for nigh over a thousand and more years, father. In every one you begged me to find you a sorcerer who could free you from your torment and bring justice to your death—but you were _not_ dead. You blamed the Jötunn for your fall, and I find myself wondering if _you_ started that bloody war."

"Ridiculous!" Bör growled.

"Perhaps my turning my back upon you will remind you of what you are truly capable of, King Bör," Hermione said coolly. She stood up, sans any sort of clothes. She very casually pulled on her gossamer garments as the spiders pulled her hair back into a silken series of long braids.

" _ **You!"**_ Bör turned abruptly, recognising the voice. "Where _**are**_ you, you giant-loving _**wench!**_ "

Hermione's lips curved up slightly. "Well, I must admit that I _do_ love giants," she said serenely. "They have such huge— hearts."

The male Jötunn all radiated _very_ smug smiles.

Bör, who kept searching his approximate level in vain, hunting for a human-sized Hermione, seemed quite oblivious to the fact that the source of the voice he recognised happened to be far, far above him, by something upwards of twenty-odd feet.

"Father, it is time to come back to Ásgarðr," Odin stated firmly.

"No, not until that little wench _**pays**_ for what she did to me!" Bör bellowed.

"Father, there is _**peace**_ between our people! Would you throw that all away for some old grudge?" Odin yelled back. "It has been over a _**thousand**_ years, nay two, since you were lost. Do you not wish to know your people again? Your grandsons?"

"And get to know your giant-loving whelps? I will _**never**_ acknowledge _**any**_ kin who would lie with with a blue-skinned _**harlot**_ ," Bör sneered.

"You know _nothing_ of Jötunn life, if you think Jötunn females are even _capable_ of being what you say," Loki growled darkly.

"Says the whelp who lies down with one here on the snow like some common animal," Bör accused, spitting on the ground in disgust.

"You _will_ leave my brother and his mate out of this weighted debate," Thor snarled. " _He_ cared enough for his people to blaze a path towards peace, even when his betrothed proved incapable of handling the task."

"Then _**you**_ are no better," Bör said with an ugly scowl.

"Now you see here," Odin bit out, his face pulling into a scowl. "I did not hang from the Yggdrasil to gain knowledge to share with all the Realms in order to breed ignorance, and there was always one thing I could never understand. If the Jötunn were intelligent enough to take and _use_ the runes— as well as have their own long before I came to this place, then how were they truly ignorant heathens? How could a race with such knowledge willingly embrace a role that would bring about Ragnarök?"

"You can see it as clear as day— right there upon their skin," Odin said, his remaining eye gazing upon the gathered Jötunn. "Only now have I realised this— now that I have seen it on the skin of my youngest son and his mate, there upon each and every one of them. They carry the tapestry of their history upon themselves, while we rely on words said in the aftermath of war, written on parchments buried under tomes, shoveled under a hundred, thousand scrolls. And I _have_ read it, father. In my lifetime search for a cure for you. So many stories— such as how we drove the Jötunn from Miðgarðr, not because they murdered and killed the people, no, but because they brought the world of the Great Frost Mother and bred with their people. It scared your father, and your father's father. It scared them so much so that they whispered the secrets of magic to the people of Miðgarðr and gave them a way to alter their climate by working together in the guise that the warmer climate would greatly benefit their people. But it wasn't _really_ about that, was it father? It was about warming their world enough to drive the Jötunn out. So the Jötunn left Miðgarðr, carried by their goddess, to a Realm of her own making. This frightened you even more, because _She_ created an entire Realm and set it inside the very branches of the Yggdrasil: an ideal place for her chosen people."

"You know _**nothing**_ of why it had to be done!" Bör argued hotly.

Odin pulled off his eye patch, rubbing the scar where his missing eye was. "Your ancestors believed the Jötunn to be suitably dealt with, until one day, _you_ , father, stumbled across the frozen wastes of Jötunheimr and realised the ancient adversary was still alive. You sought to convince them that those of Ásgarðr were gods for a reason. You tried to broker a peace by beating them soundly— only they would _not_ bow. They turned their backs upon you, and you droves a spear into their healer and king."

Bör stared at Odin, utterly gobsmacked. "How would you even _**know?**_ You weren't even _**there!**_ "

"I can _see_ it— written upon the skin of these people, father," Odin said, his eyes scanning the glowing runes that only now he could actually see, let alone read. "I think… I _believe_ that the Great Frost Mother has gifted me with the knowledge to read for myself the truth."

"You would trust their so-called goddess?"Bör scoffed. " _ **WE**_ are the gods! They should bow down to _**US!**_ "

"Long has it been since I first hung on the Yggdrasil, sacrificing my eye for knowledge, or drank from the Well of Mímir. Longer still has it been since I wandered Miðgarðr to spread the ways of healing, sing of the glory of death, admonished with tales of divine justice, breathed the beauty of poetry into the hearts of men, whipped them into a frenzy, and taught them the art of battle and sorcery. Sorcery I have chosen to leave in the most capable hands of my lady wife, casting it aside as no better than the weapons we imbue with it. Poetry I gave to our philosophers, and knowledge I began to keep for myself, bidding Geri and Freki, Huginn and Muninn to constantly run and fly across all of Miðgarðr to bring word to me of what was going on there. Yet I have not even once stepped foot there for a great many human centuries."

"Yet, none of them ever told you what _**really**_ mattered," Bör sneered.

"Isn't the staving off of Ragnarök the very reason that you, your father, and his father before him did do all the things we have done to that end? In our desperation to save our people, we drove ourselves utterly mad as we searched desperately for the key, that it might point us in the direction of that which we might blame for stoking the fires of our own destruction. And, maybe, just maybe, I can believe you, father. Up until my own actions killed a mother, her unborn child still within her broken body. And suddenly, I remembered poetry and knowledge and my own wife, laden with child not so long before." Odin's face darkened. "No, father. I will not stand and watch you break this hard-won peace between Ásgarðr and Jötunheimr. Útgarðr may be the chosen seat of this frozen wasteland, but Laufey is the king and the beating heart of his people, and he is out here, with them, not inside the walls of a great city cut off from the very lands that saved them. He could have chosen to just let my son die, but he did not, and for that I can only be thankful that he had far more compassion in his heart than I did on the day I brought an entire palace to the ground."

"You were fighting a _**WAR!"**_ Bör yelled.

"Not _my_ war," Odin corrected him. " _Your_ war. Your father's war. Your grandfather's war. No, if I am going to fight a war, now, it will be for my _own_ reasons. Not yours. Not my ancestor's reasons. It will be because I see it as a necessary evil, not because someone _told_ me it was the right thing to do. And I'm telling you, father, that the time for war is _done_. Come home to Ásgarðr, and learn what you have missed after a millennium trapped in the snows."

For a moment, it seemed as though Bör was affected by Odin's words, but the expression that had briefly softened his ire seemed to shift back into a cold rage far too quickly. He suddenly lunged towards one of the guards, but just as he did so, a huge dark shape arose, soaring so fast and so close to the underside of the ice they had gathered upon that it was more than a little obvious.

"To the high ground!" Laufey shouted immediately, standing hurriedly and moving away. "Follow us, Asgardians, or you will be naught but food!"

All the Jötunn swiftly fled the area, not even bothering to look back— all save for Loki and Hermione, who extended their arms to the much smaller members of the Asgardian party.

"Come, we will take you with us, hurry!" Loki yelled. "Hold on to us!"

The guards all grasped onto Hermione's arm as she pulled them close to herself and her other hand reached out to seek Loki's. His hand slammed into hers, and her magic flared at once.

 _ **CRACK!**_

Hermione's side-along Apparate took them all away.

" _ **COWARDS!"**_ Bör jeered. "Actually believing a Jötunn warning of some supposed danger that lies beneath! They will slay you the instant your back is turned!"

 _ **Crack.**_

 _ **Crackle.**_

 _ **Crack! CRACK!**_

 _ **Hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnggggghh!**_

The great seawolf whale burst through the ice, sending shards of broken ice in all directions in a spray of water. The very cold of Jötunheimr froze the water in mid-splash, and the whale breached itself up high into the air, its broad tail slamming into even more ice and throwing it out like shrapnel.

Its enormous maw opened, exposing the yawning Abyss within.

 _ **CLACK!**_

Mighty jaws smashed together, taking all that was upon the ice and dragging it back below.

 _ **KaSPLOOOSH!**_

The body of the whale had destroyed the meeting site completely, sending all the ice and broken shards floating out into the now-exposed sea. As the tip of the whale's flukes disappeared into the frigid water, nothing was left but broken ice and churning water.

If Bör Burison had somehow survived, no one remained around to witness it.

* * *

"My son," Frigga said, patting his hand. "When do I get my new grandbabies?"

Loki's eyes widened. "Why mother, whatever do you mean?"

Frigga gave him the eye. "I am your mother, Loki, and I _know_ you. I am also not stupid or oblivious to the ties of magic. Others may choose to believe whatever makes them happy, but what would make _me_ happy is knowing when I will get to meet my grandbabies."

Loki scratched the space in front of his ear. The rest of the diplomatic party was off enjoying the hospitality of the tribe. The magical Jötunn had crafted the first hotel of its kind to provide warm, comfortable lodgings for their Asgardian guests. Luna had taken charge of the decorating duties, having thoroughly interrogated Loki on what Asgardians thought constituted "comfortable lodgings."

Save for the outside of the structure, which looked exactly like the natural spiky ice formation of the glacier, the interior had become akin to the very inside of the Ásgarðr royal palace, complete with private chambers, a luxurious common room, private baths, and inner gardens that had been carefully magicked in with climate control and holding bubbles. Save for a school of not-so-in-need-of-water plush Pira that all piled on top of Frigga's lap and purred at her, begging for pets.

The doors and inner chambers were huge, far more so than typical Asgardian rooms so it could suitably accommodate the Jötunn as well, but for the most part, most of the furnishings from the polished floors, carpets, and sculptures seemed to have been taken from Ásgarðr itself— only having been crafted in ice and snow. The temperature on the inside however, was balmy for the Jötunn, yet quite comfortable for the Asgardians, akin to a cool, spring day. The food was Jötunheimr's best, but Astera had worked her culinary magic upon it to make it appeal to the more "refined" Asgardian palate.

Pan-seared seal steaks with steamed blue-spotted ice crab, breaded calamari, and seaweed salad became quick favourites. Frigga earned herself access to Hermione's secret stash of tasty sea urchins and other deep sea delights, and the she was permitted to take her pick from the bubble gardens in the shrine to the Great Frost Mother. Frigga, ever sensitive to the private domain of another goddess, placed an offering of her own at the feet of the the sacred statue: a small (although large for her) seal, killed with her very own dagger and a prayer that the peace between their peoples would prove to be an eternal thing.

The village seemed to relax after word of Frigga's hunt and offering to the Great Frost Mother made the rounds. The Asgardians were allowed to do what they wished, provided they did not bring violence, and none of them were about to after they had just seen, or rather heard, the roar of the great seawolf whale smashing the site where the war had begun.

Laufey and Odin sat together around the fire and spoke of the future, and many believed that such a thing would surely never come to pass. Oddly, the two fathers-in-law seemed to realise that the other was not nearly as bad as they had originally believed, and Amelia and Frigga were getting on more than just cordially. The guards seemed to have very little to do, and they were allowed, for once, to relax and enjoy themselves— and Sif and Thor promptly seized advantage of that allowance to engage in some very private activities behind closed doors that had been carefully layered with a number of suitable charms to prevent any more embarrassing heckling— well, save for a large gathering of plush Pira that had piled up against the door and were putting their "ears" against it.

When Frigga found them all piled on the door, her reaction was pretty much as expected.

"My son, why is the hotel infested with adorable stuffed Pira?"

"Why do you ask _me_ this?" Loki answered with a charming pout.

"Because Thor cannot conjure or animate things that are both adorable and dangerous at the same time."

"Psh," Loki scoffed.

A clutter of equally adorable spiders skittered by, carrying a tray of assorted snacks.

Frigga looked at Loki.

"Those creatures were not _my_ fault," Loki insisted, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Extremely dangerous yet obnoxiously adorable? Who else then?" Frigga commented with no little amusement.

"You could always blame your wife," Hermione said as she walked by, a mischievous grin on her face.

"Don't you _dare_ blame this on your wife, Loki!" Frigga huffed.

Loki made a face that seemed to be caught between "But—" and "Well, _now_ what?".

A fluffy spider on Loki's shoulder waved a leg. "Actually, we invited ourselves after Hermione saved us. She's the best!"

"Yup!" another spider said.

"Way back when, she saved us from floating out to sea."

"We were smaller then, still spiderlings!"

"We liked to ride along with mummy."

"Mummy has new spiderlings now, though!"

"They all hang out in Hermione's hair with Mum."

"We should fetch the drinks."

"Good idea."

"Bye, bye Frigga goddess mum," they said, springing off Loki's shoulder and riding a silk strand down to the floor before scurrying off down the hall.

Frigga stared at Loki.

"See, I _told_ you they weren't my fault," Loki said with a cheeky grin.

* * *

 **A/N:** Loki always gets the blame even when it isn't his fault.


	3. Future for the Next Generation

**A/N:** *yawn* amg sleepy. WHYYYYY?

 **Beta Love:** The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, Flyby Commander Shepard

* * *

 **Castaways**

 **Chapter 3: A Future for the Next Generation**

 _Life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react to it. - Charles R. Swindoll_

"Oi," Loki pouted at Tryggr. "I'd like some time with my mate too."

The frost sabre just stared at Loki, clearly unimpressed. He wrapped his paw and foreleg around Hermione and pulled her close, setting his head over her with a yawn. Bjørn, who had taken to her other side, helped sandwich Hermione between them— two very large mountains of fur, fang, and claws serving as both living heaters and pillows.

Hermione yawned sleepily, barely even conscious, having spent most of the day in conversation with Frigga, both introducing her to all the people who mattered, which was _everyone_ , and showing her around their cave as she tended her most recent patients.

Frigga had been quite impressed that Hermione had taken on so many tasks in addition to taking care of the tribe's mental or spiritual well-being as well as physical. Loki, of course, had been wrangled by All-Father as he and Laufey "talked business." When they had parted for a few hours in between sessions, Loki had sought his mate out, making sure Hermione hadn't forgotten he existed. Hermione tolerated his affections, even in front of his lady mother, rebuking his pranks and mischief with some of her own. Frigga thought it fitting how compatible they were, giving them a serene smile as she watched their antics. Finally, there was someone able to keep Loki in check without discouraging his mischief— something Frigga believed to be quite rare, in of itself.

Yet, Loki faced a block from both Bjørn and Tryggr, who seemed to desire plenty of quality time with their mistress too. Loki stared at them and only got fang-filled yawns directly in his face. Finally, unable to take it any longer, he managed to wriggle himself in between them in order to cuddle his mate, wrapping himself around her as they wrapped themselves around them. He let out a contented sigh as Hermione snuggled into him, the feel of their bodies pressed together bringing him a kind of sweet comfort that nothing else could.

A frantic pounding on the bed-chamber "door" caused Loki to consider shifting into something large and fangy and perhaps sporting a few thousand angry tentacles crossed his mind. " _ **What?"**_

Thor's head burst through the room past the thick hide coverings. "Brother, I need to talk to you!"

"About _**WHAT**_ , brother?" Loki growled in total exasperation.

"I think Sif is pregnant."

Loki's head suddenly popped up over Tryggr. " _ **What?"**_

"Congratulations," Hermione mumbled tiredly, promptly falling back asleep.

Loki looked down at Hermione and then back to a worried-looking Thor and sighed. "Just give me a moment."

* * *

Odin married his son and Lady Sif the very next morning, ironically using the Shrine of the Great Frost Mother in which to do so. No future grandchild of _his_ was going to be born out of wedlock, if Odin had anything to say about it, and the All-Father seemed strangely glad that it was Sif who Thor had ended up with and not some random infatuation in Ásgarðr, or worse— a mere mortal. Odin was quite surprised by the turn of events, yet those that knew him found him to be quite happy and even content in comparison to where he had been but a year earlier. No one at all was complaining in that regard, least of all his Crimson Hawks.

Scouts from the Jötunn and Ásgarðr went to check out the area where Bör had last been seen, but no one could find any evidence of either his survival or his demise, save one highly enthusiastic Snorre seal mating with his equally enthusiastic red-furred female paramour.

The Jötunn seemed ready to do a little seal hunting, but then they abruptly stopped, holding back the Asgardian scouts with a shake of their heads.

"Those, we do not hunt," the hunters said grimly. "Those are ones being punished by the Great Frost Mother. Only she is permitted to end their torment, if and when she so chooses."

"That doesn't look like torment," one of the Crimson Hawks said dryly, listening to the two seals getting it on very loudly.

"You're not the one trapped inside a mere seal's mind," they answered, ushering their Asgardian compatriots from the ice floes.

"How do even you tell the difference? They look like ordinary seals to me."

"They wear the mark of the Great Frost Mother," Arneot said with a grim shake of his head. "Any game or great beast we are allowed but those that bear her mark of shame."

"Is there a different mark of honour?" the scout asked in return.

Arneot smiled. "Our priestess and our king both wear that mark."

Thor's impromptu wedding and celebration lasted the greater of two weeks, using the occasion to commemorate both his and his brother's wedding together. While there was much feasting, there was even more celebration of the newfound camaraderie between both peoples. Sif gained a new respect for the Jötunn's respect for the unborn, finding no small amount of amazement in how each Jötunn would gently place their hand upon her abdomen and smile— perhaps seeing something in their vision that Asgardians did not.

Sif, much to the amazement of everyone, seemed quite content with how things had worked out, not that Thor wasn't, but the Warriors Three seemed actually distraught that _they_ hadn't seen it coming, childhood friends or no.

As much as Fandral and Hogun teased Volstagg about being large for an Asgardian, Volstagg pointed out that even he was small compared to their current hosts. One thing was for certain, he certainly wasn't complaining about the food. The banquet tables meant to feed Jötunn were plenty big enough to feed a large group of hungry Asgardians.

At the height of the festivities, Odin stood, squared his shoulders, and very purposely lay down his spear.

"Friends, family, and new friends and new family," Odin said as he looked over the gathered around the feasting table. "Today, I no longer see two species trying hard to not offend the other, but newfound friends and family wishing to get along as all family and friends should. With the marriage of our two peoples and the marriage of my sons, I find many similarities where once was only confusion and misunderstanding. I can only apologise for the blindness which resulted in me choosing to follow the will of my father and the cruelty that first started the war between us. I can only hope that now that we are joined together as a combined people— we might all make our decisions for ourselves hoping that the example we make this day allows our children and our children's children to do the same without the conflict some of us have suffered through until now."

Odin took Frigga's hand in his. "As a joint gift to both our peoples and in celebration of these marriages and the upcoming children I have had the honour of feeling kick, I, in agreement with King Laufey, declare the war to be officially over, and more importantly, the gate to the Bifröst to be rebuilt that both our peoples might travel back and forth between it once more, to be restricted only by the fierceness of the weather and the duties we are all tied to for our respective peoples. I hope, that in the sharing of our knowledge as well as the love between our peoples, we shall become strong together rather than apart. And while I cannot be more sorry my part in this war, I can promise that I see things far more clearly now than ever I did before."

Laufey remained sitting so as to not dwarf Odin in size and he held out his arm. Odin and he clasped arms— Asgardian to Jötunn— and a loud cheer and thumping of feet rattled the banquet tables. "Let us give thanks for those that are here and those could not be. Let us remember them well, for our past is now behind us, and our future lies before us. We have survived in a land that continuously tests our mettle, but the Great Frost Mother never gives us more than we can handle. We must trust in her that she knows what we are capable of. We survived to today, and today we flourish. We have survived the ridicule of our own kind who shunned the old ways that made us strong. Where would we be now without She-Who-Watches-Over-Us? It was _she_ who guided Hermione down upon Håkon those many years ago. It was _she_ who knew that one day, Hermione would move us to safety, bind our wounds, and heal us from within. It was _she_ that opened our hearts again to the whispers of the Great Frost Mother, brought us, through the strands of fate only she and the Norns truly know, our mates— our friends— and now our kin. Let us celebrate until we cannot stand and make our ancestors proud."

The Asgardians and Jötunn roared their approval, slamming their frothy mugs down on the floor as they celebrated long into the night.

* * *

Odin was not the only god to be giving gifts to the people that night, as the Great Frost Mother was never to be outdone, having accelerated the pregnancies of both Hermione and Sif. Frigga found herself in the position of midwife for Sif, who had found herself to term, literally overnight, and as a birthing coach for the baffled and twitchy Loki, who was trying to help Hermione. Luna, ever the serene one, butted in to help, saying "I've never helped giving birth to a Jötunn before, but I have helped to birth a centaur and a giant squid baby, so this couldn't possibly be any worse."

Severus helped by shoving a potion down Loki's throat and then Thor's shortly after. Both would-be-fathers were having coping issues simultaneously.

"Oh! That's one head, not two, so you're going good, Hermione!" Luna cheered Hermione on as Hermione went through her contractions.

Sif, a much louder birther, punched Thor directly in the face and almost kicked Lady Frigga too when her leg slipped off the bed. Hermione squeezed Loki's hand as he pressed his head to hers, allowing their joined markings to soothe her mind and body.

When Hermione was "ready" she was transferred over to a birthing pool, and Loki had her lean on him as she placed herself in a squatting position. Not but a few contractions later, Luna caught their firstborn son, wrapped him up in a fluffy blanket, and just had time to hand him to Severus when Hermione went into contractions again, clinging to Loki as the second-born daughter entered the world like a torpedo.

Luna, unfazed, caught the baby quickly, wrapped her up, and had them both sitting on Hermione's chest after Loki moved her back to the resting furs. that had been carefully prepared to be comfortable and clean for the birthing mother and her infants. Tryggr and Bjørn lay behind her, providing warmth for her and the babies, and Loki and Severus both pressed their heads to Hermione's skin, offering her comfort and support through their markings.

The babies, already learned in the way of finding food, took their first meal almost immediately.

"What are you going to name them?" Luna asked.

Hermione, almost asleep despite Sif's screaming, murmured groggily. "Sigrunn," she said touching the girl-child. "Laufey," she said touching the firstborn male.

Loki smiled at her, purring in approval as he snuggled her tenderly.

Severus tried to sneak away, but Hermione's hand locked firmly around his wrist and pulled him down. She said nothing, but the warm thrum of her magic told him everything he needed to know. Stay, and celebrate with us. Luna went over to help Frigga as best she could, if anything to give the pregnant warrior something to punch that didn't bruise later.

Bjørn and Tryggr snuffled and licked the new arrivals, their tails thumping against the ground in mutual approval.

Sif was screaming something unintelligible but everyone was fairly positive that it was "You're _**never**_ putting that thing inside me ever again!" as another set of strong contractions hit her. She practically wrenched off Thor's entire arm as Frigga caught the baby, had it washed off, swaddled, and pressed him against Sif's chest before Sif even realised she'd actually given birth to one.

"Sven," Sif cooed, her face softening just before she screamed again.

"That… is _not_ the afterbirth," Frigga noted as the second child crowned. "Big push, Lady Sif, your second-born wishes to make their appearance!"

" _ **AARRGHHHHAAAA!"**_ Sif cried. " _ **Out!**_ _Why_ can't you come _**out**_ as easily as you went in!"

Frigga exchanged amused glances with Luna, who gave her a serene smile.

Frigga managed to maneuver the baby out of the canal with a little work, realising that the baby's shoulder was jammed where it didn't belong, and Sif gave a sigh of relief, panting in her exhaustion. Frigga had the baby girl up on Sif's chest in a jiffy, smiling as Sif touched the baby's head and said, "Kára."

Meanwhile, visitors were coming in to visit Hermione, taking long moments to press their head to hers and touch each child. Laufey came in to anoint each baby's head with a sort of glowing paste to trace their markings, and his eyes brightened when he realised they had named their son after him.

"So, what do you think of Jötunn pregnancies?" Laufey asked with a smile.

"Glad for the blessings of these markings," Hermione said with a warm laughed. "I think Sif would _really_ like them right about now."

Laufey tiled his head, listening to Sif yelling.

"You have got to be _**kidding**_ me! What do you _**mean**_ there is another?" Sif's voice cried out in obvious disbelief.

"She made the wrong choice in mate," Laufey said with a chuckle, causing Hermione to snort a soft laugh. "Well, I suppose it is another special gift from our goddess. We have more than enough trials in our lives than to lose our females to birthing complications and have them punch or kick us in the face while doing so."

Hermione clasped Laufey's hand and squeezed it, and he gently traced her markings in a fond, reassuring gesture.

"I've been around for quite a few birthings," Hermione said with a fond smile. "It feels strange to be on the opposite side of it."

"Strange cravings and all?"

"Definitely strange cravings," Hermione said, "but not as strange as Luna's."

"I've seen many a strange craving in my time, Hermione," Laufey said. "None of them compare to Luna's."

"She's always been like that," Hermione chuckled. "Even when she wasn't pregnant she ate some really odd things. Ron, on the other hand, ate a lot of truly _disgusting_ things, which was a totally different issue."

Laufey wrinkled his nose. "Given his transformation, I would imagine that wasn't the only thing about him that was disgusting."

Hermione nodded ruefully. "Only one of many."

"If you will allow it, I will take the afterbirths and offer them to our Great Frost Mother in thanks for watching over your births," Laufey said.

"Thank you," Hermione said with a tired smile. "I appreciate it."

"Rest now," Laufey said kindly. "I will tell the tribe to stop hurting themselves while you rest."

Hermione snorted. " _Do_ let me know how that works for you."

"Worth a shot, hrm?" Laufey chuckled.

Hermione's hand clasped around Laufey's. "Thank you."

"Rest if you can— provided Lady Sif is done screaming in protest of her own products of conception."

Hermione smiled as Laufey tenderly pressed his forehead to hers, the infants', and Loki's before sweeping out of the cave.

* * *

"Ah, friend Loki," Arneot chuckled as Loki pulled himself up through the hole in the ice. "How goes the urchin hunting?"

"Enough for the whole village, my friend," Loki said with a grin, heaving up the enormous net just before Severus pulled himself up and shook himself off.

"Never thought being a gargantuan whale of a whale would be useful until now," Severus said with a sniff.

"I appreciate you guarding my back, Severus," Loki said with a chuckle. "I'm not sure how they keep reproducing so fast, but from what Laufey says, he has never seen the like of these urchins before."

"Aye, the colours— red and gold— never seen the like of them," Arneot agreed. "It's almost like they want us to eat them. If we don't, they'll eat all of the sea kelp forest and frost algae."

"The water is pristine down there," Loki said. "Not a hint of refuse or old carcasses. They sure are effective little omnivores."

"The one thing the great seawolf whale will not eat— not that our females do not mind," Severus said with an amused grin.

"You're looking good, friend Severus," Arneot said with clear approval. "The hunter's life seems to suit you perfectly. Your little rascal, Kenna, must be keeping you and Eostre on your toes."

"I never thought—" Severus began, looking out over the turbulent far seas. "I never thought I'd have a life after the war, let alone one that felt so very right."

"The Great Frost Mother rewards her people," Arneot said. "Even the ones who haven't realised what they are meant to be. She brought us you as she brought us Hermione, with just enough mystery to test our faith in what she knew all along."

"I don't think Ronald Weasley or Bör Burison has quite the same positive regard," Severus said, eyebrow quirking.

"Yet, every since this Ronald Weasley and Bör Burison met their fate on the ice, our people have been thriving with plenty of seal and a great many oddly-coloured yet extremely tasty urchins."

Loki tilted his head. "Do you think that perhaps Bör and Sigyn might be the reason we have so many of those oddly-coloured and strangely tasty urchins?"

The trio exchanged dubious glances.

Loki's lip quirked into a smile. "I should be strangely horrified that I'm possibly eating the spawn of my transformed grandfather and my ex-fiancée, yet oddly I can only compliment them on having a great many delicious children."

Arneot snorted loudly, letting out a hearty laugh. "I would not wish to be your enemy, friend Loki."

Loki gave him a mischievous eyebrow wiggle.

Arneot's face turned serious. "To be so deserving that the Great Frost Mother shows her hand or Herself is a scary thing. Yet, even in her fury, she turns the punishment into something that helps our people. I cannot imagine being so thoughtful in the face of rage as to still help someone else."

"Good thing you are not one full of rage," Loki said with a chuckle. "Even the twins cannot get a proper rise out of you."

Arneot winked. "They may be able to pull the sealskin over our son's eyes, but _I_ can always hear them coming. They are still only as stealthy as a drunk snow elk in rut."

"You paint a most amusing image in my mind, Arneot," Loki replied, chuckling.

"Hermione makes it look so easy to them," Arneot said. "Being Jötunn, carrying the twins around, doing all that she does, but I think they often forget she has lived amongst us for thousands of years— far longer than the short time they have been with us. Even you, friend Loki, have lived far longer than they."

Loki looked thoughtful. "They do not realise that to us, even to Hermione— now of all times— they are but babies having babies. It took a while for Severus to grasp that his apprentice had become far older than she was when he had seen her last. Arthur is still," Loki said, pausing as he scratched his head, "resisting the idea of the passing of so many years. I think he harbours a great deal of guilt that it was his youngest son who 'condemned' her to the icy wastelands of Jötunheimr and he never knew it."

Arneot hmmed. "He still thinks in a very human way. Very fleeting. Even with all he has gained and seen since being mated to Astera, he is inclined to believe that Hermione's being sent here was punishment, but it wasn't. The Great Frost Mother _wanted_ Hermione to be amongst us. She wanted her for herself and her people, or she would never have been dropped just so right on top of Håkon's head. He feels guilt for not feeling guilty, which is a strange thing."

Loki rubbed his chin with his hand. "I think, as a parent, he believes there are some things he should take responsibility for, but he's still trying to separate himself from that which was not his fault. Much as Håkon still blames himself a little for allowing Snorre to hoodwink everyone. Snorre fooled everyone. In that he was the most cunning of all of us, but he was also the most selfish, and out here on the floes, selfish gains you no favour from the land, its people, or the Great Frost Mother."

"He's doing us all a great favour _now_ ," Arneot replied with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

There was a flurry of movement and loud yelling as Fred and George bolted out across the floes being chased by a pink and highly brassed-off frost beast and an equally brassed-off polka dot-covered frost sabre.

Loki facepalmed, shaking his head. "Amateurs."

"They _do_ realise that Tryggr and Bjørn can keep that pace for hours, right?"

Loki peered out between his fingers. "They do _now_."

* * *

"Seems like just yesterday they were small enough to carry around," Harry said wistfully, watching his two "teenage" sons having mock battles with Thor's son and three daughters just outside the shelter.

Elin shoved large basket of silk-lined sealskins into her mate's arms. "Please take this to Luna. She's been waiting for weeks to finish making the new bed linings for the resort."

"Sure," Harry said, shaking off the reverie.

Elin pulled Harry to her and kissed his forehead. "You silly man. You still look upon our children like they are somehow a dream."

Harry smiled warmly. "You're all a dream. A dream made reality."

Elin shook her head. "Charmer. Go. Before Fred and George somehow con you into doing something for them that ends up with you tied to the back of a wild frost beast."

Harry's eyes widened.

"Yes, I know about that," Elin confirmed, pushing her mate out the door.

"How did you know about _that_?" Harry sputtered.

Elin shook her head. "My mate, everyone in the village knows that."

"Oh." Harry zoomed out the door only to end up face first outside the shelter, his foot tangled in a trip wire.

Elin rolled her eyes. "Fred, George, you _will_ now help my mate carry those seal-skins to Luna!"

A sheepish dual "Yes, ma'am," came from outside.

"They'll never learn," Hermione said dryly, adding the finishing touches to a woven basket.

"No, I don't imagine they ever will," Elin said. "Gimle and Folka just make them babysit whenever they get too full of themselves."

"They keep trying to pull one over on Loki," Hermione said, starting up on another fishing basket.

"How is _that_ coming?"

"About as good as it did the first day they tried," Hermione said with a wicked grin.

"You'd think after the first hundred years they would learn that it's not possible to get one over on the God of Mischief," Elin said.

"I keep thinking that one day I will be able to resist his insufferable charm," Hermione said.

"And how is _that_ coming along?"

"About as good as it did the first day we mated," Hermione said with a sigh.

Elin grinned, finishing up slicing the fish and setting around the fire to smoke. "Some things are simply not meant to be, Priestess," Elin said with a wink.

"I am certainly not complaining," Hermione said and squeaked as a giant black-furred frost sabre appeared, snagged her by the scruff, and dragged her out of the shelter, purring.

"Some things never change," Elin chuckled, continuing to weave her fishing basket.

* * *

"Xeno, sit, sit," Molly tutted, ducking as one of her grandchildren threw a stuffed giant squid over her head. "Louis, you pick that up and put it away, young man."

A red-headed, freckle-faced boy sulked into the next room. "Yes, grandma."

"How are you doing, Xenophilius?" Molly said, handing him a cup of chamomile tea.

"I had a dream about her again, Molly," Xenophilius said. "She was holding my grandchild, but her skin was so blue."

"She couldn't _breathe?_ " Molly gasped, horrified.

"No— she was just blue. Luna, my grandchild, and the man she was with. But they seemed so happy. I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean." Xenophilius sighed.

"Arthur would have said that maybe it means she is happy wherever she is. He always liked to believe in good omens." Molly rubbed her nose and sat down. "I never should have demanded he go and find Ronald. They released the Pensieve memories for me to view— I think they were tired of me going to the Ministry and demanding to know where my son and husband were. I had _no_ idea that he'd really cursed that girl. Hermione."

"What happened to him then?" Xenophilius asked. "You never said anything about it before."

"I think it was because of my Ronald that Luna and Harry disappeared," Molly said sombrely. "There was a team that was sent to trace where Ron's spell had sent Hermione. They never came back. I, in my desperation to see Ron home, nagged at Arthur every hour of the day until he promised to go find him—then he and—neither of them came home."

Molly drank down her tea in one long gulp. "Arthur and I—we were never really meant for each other even though we put on our best faces for the boys and Ginny, but he always tried to do good by me, but I never realised what I had while he was here, just what I _didn't_."

"That's what happened when my Pandora died," Xenophilius said. "And I think my unwillingness to limit my Luna is why she never knew any fear, but she also never really accepted her mother's death. I hope my dream was a true one. She deserves to be happy."

"How is Ginny doing?" Xenophilius asked.

"Pregnant with her fourth," Molly said. "Seems like only yesterday I caught her with that Ravenclaw boy. I'd never believed Harry when he said he hadn't left her, that she'd left _him_. I always thought those two would be married someday. How very wrong I was. When Harry disappeared, Ginny never asked about him, Not even once. Seems like I'm always mucking things up. I didn't believe that Hermione girl either— when she told me she wasn't dating Harry and that Viktor Krum at the same time."

"The Prophet, Molly?" Xenophilius shook his head. "Rita Skeeter's drivel? Anyone could have told you not to put a knut's worth of belief in her sensationalist rubbish."

"I know," Molly sighed. "I was just so terribly protective of poor Harry. He was like another son to me. I had begged Dumbledore to let us take him back in the day, but he had insisted Harry had to go to his aunt instead. Some sort of 'powerful familial magic' rot. Then, I turned around and didn't believe him when I should have."

"Well I don't see any ghosts haunting you here, Molly Weasley," Xenophilius said kindly. "I'm pretty sure they are alive somewhere, living a good life far away from the drama here, and even if they aren't, there are no ghosts come back to torment you. You have Bill, Charlie, Percy, and Ginny, and all of them have given you grandbabies, even Charlie, who you thought would end up marrying a dragon before finding a good woman. I'd buck up and see what you have and not linger on all you think you've lost. I think I'm going to follow my own advice and believe that Luna is happy out there somewhere."

The front door burst open, and three small red-headed children ran in to enthusiastically attack Molly's legs. A very pregnant Ginny followed tiredly behind, looking rather world weary. "Hey, mum."

"You should get some rest," Molly said.

"Say, mum, could you watch the kids for me today?" Ginny asked. "I need to be in Wales this afternoon."

"Oh, I guess I could if it's only today, dear," Molly said. "Remember I have a bakery to run. Whatever do you need to do in Wales, Ginny?"

Ginny fidgeted. "Actually, it's a job interview."

"Oh! That's wonderful, dear," Molly replied. "I'm glad you found a place that lets you take your children with you. I hope they appreciate the head on your shoulders instead of all those other places you used to want to be a Quidditch star."

Ginny flinched.

"Ginny," Molly said, narrowing her eyes. "What are you interviewing for?"

"Backup chaser for the Holyhead Har—"

"Ginevra Weasley," Molly said, gritting her teeth. "You can't possibly think it's a good idea to try and keep a job with a traveling sports team and take your children with you. That's a horrible idea."

"Well, I'm glad you think so, mum," Ginny said. "I was thinking that I could leave them with you on the days they call me in."

"Oh no, you're going to con me into watching your kids so you can travel the world and try to break your neck falling off brooms, Ginevra," Molly said. "You need to suck it up and be a mother and be with your children. Besides, your Morgan has been more than a good provider."

"But it's not fair, mum! I should be able to go out and work too!"

"Work, perhaps, but Quidditch? Be real, Ginny," Molly said with a frown. "You're thirty years old now, and you have three darling boys plus another on the way. How do you expect to play Quidditch with your stomach bulging out like you're carrying a boulder, hrm?"

"But—"

"No buts, Ginerva," Molly said, firmly putting her foot down. "I don't mind watching them occasionally on weekends, but I run a bakery now, and I don't want them trying to put their hands, heads, or bodies into my stone ovens. It's not a safe place for children. Too many hot things and busy people with not enough time or eyes to keep young kids out of trouble."

"Mum, I _never_ get to go out and do anything," Ginny protested. "I should be able to go out and work too, doing what _I_ like!"

Ginny froze as she abruptly realised she'd taken it just a little too far. Molly's eyes narrowed.

"Do you think I didn't want to be able to go out and do what I wanted to do when I had you and the boys?" Molly growled, clenching her teeth together. "I loved you _all_ , but that didn't mean I didn't want to get out and do things, feel a little independent! I've finally managed to get the bakery off the ground and made it successful, Ginny, but I'm _not_ going to do your mothering for you just so you can go fall off a broom!"

"Mum! I _need_ this job. I need something for the kids all the time. Morgan is out there all the time. I never get to see him but for a few times here and there in-between games and after the Quidditch season—"

"Ginevra, have you looked in a mirror recently?" Molly asked, raising her voice incredulously. "Do you think even _one_ safety check is going to let you even get near to a broom looking like that? The reason they have backups in the first place is for when their players get injured or pregnant!"

"I can _**do**_ this, mum!" Ginny yelled.

"It's not about whether you can do it," Molly retorted. "It's whether you should at all!"

Molly narrowed her eyes. "Are you trying to get hurt?"

" _ **No!"**_

"Are you trying to miscarry?"

 _ **No!"**_

"What did the healer say when you went last? What are you having _this_ time?"

" _ **Twins!"**_ Ginny cried, slamming her hands down on the table. Her eyes widened in horror, and she paled. "I've gotta go." She picked up her coat.

"Mummy! Where are you going?"

 **Crack!**

Ginny was gone.

* * *

 _ **Famous Quidditch Star, Morgan Labatt, Steps Down To Take Care of Family**_

 _It was a sad day for Quidditch fans when Quidditch protege, Morgan Labatt, made the decision to take the position of sports columnist for the Daily Prophet. Mr Labatt, who had taken the Wimbourne Wasps so far in just the last decade, stated "It's time I took a job that let me bring the little ones in with me. The Prophet is allowing me to do that._

 _The Daily Prophet, which has been under new ownership ever since Rita Skeeter was found spying on Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, in an unregistered Animagus form, has created a few new accommodations for their employees to make it a more family-oriented paper. Daycare facilities on site have allowed many columnists to make the best of working and having children._

" _Being a single dad is tough, but family is very important to me.," Labatt said. "I'd been thinking about trying to cut back before, but I had been trying to pull in a lot of time in order to set aside money for education for all of them. I realised though, they need me now, so I'm going to try and be there for them."_

" _I really couldn't have done it without the support from my parents and ex mother-in-law. They looked after the kids for the first rough months until I could get a job that let me take care of them and work at the same time."_

 _Morgan Labatt's sports column has been a massive hit ever since it first started, and many people seem to think it is because his unique perspective on the sport, having played it for nearly ten years_

As to what happened between Morgan and his ex-wife, Ginevra, no one really seems to know.

* * *

"Get anything out of her?" the woman asked as she filed her "claws" to an even sharper point.

"Nothing," Fury said, tapping his eye patch with a sigh. "She's ranting on about magic and gigantic blue people stealing the faces of her friends and trying to break into some place called Gringott's to take all her money."

"So, do we need to bring in a psychiatrist?"

Fury sighed, sitting down in the swivelling chair. He took a swig of the coffee in front of him and made it all disappear in a few seconds. "She's talking about magic and such, but I think we need to call Doctor Strange and see if there might be anything to it. He's much more into that sorcery, magic, finger waving, incantation crap than any of us."

"Has _she_ tried to do any finger waving aor incantation— crap?"

"Not that I can tell, but we took her broomstick and stick away from her, so who knows? It could be linked to something in her head. Can't do anything without having one or another of something. We've had a few supes that had items they had linked to their powers, so it's possible. Maybe she is one and no one was around to teach her, so she came up with some really odd cover story to try and make sense of it." Fury rubbed his eyelids with his fingers.

"She's also very pregnant," the clawed woman said, using the points to scratch her hair behind her ear. One pointed, furry ear flicked idly. "Let me be the the first to say that having children only makes the strangeness worse in supes. _I_ craved iron deposits. It was embarrassing."

"Only because you actually ate the rock and ore together, Ironcat, and it all made sense considering when you get pissed off, you're covered in metal," Fury said.

"Fine, be logical," Ironcat muttered. "Still, pregnancy does odd things to supes. If she is one, hallucinations of blue people stealing your friends' faces is probably only one of many problems. Did you x-ray her abdomen to make sure she wasn't giving birth to squid children or baby godzillas?"

Fury eyed Ironcat and gave a slight nose twitch.

"What? It's _**possible!**_ "

"Possible, but not likely even around people we deal with everyday," Fury mumbled.

"So, why were we even called in to bring her in?" Ironcat asked, yawning in a very feline manner that showed all of her sharp teeth and feline tongue. "We're S.H.I.E.L.D. not psychiatrists."

"Unlike you, my friend, who manages to placate even the most paranoid government official into thinking you are a sweet, harmless kitten," Fury told her, "people claimed she was running around London screaming that blue aliens had somehow stolen her dead friends' faces. The higher-ups wanted us to make sure they weren't _really_ blue aliens stealing her dead friend's faces because— because who the hell _knows_ if it was true at this point."

"And they didn't just think this crazy lady landed on her head after watching too much Avatar and Sabrina the Teenage Witch?"

"I preferred Bewitched, myself. If you were going to do magic, wiggling your nose seems like a far more effective way to go about it than pointing a fancy stick at someone."

"Wands, Fury, they are called wands," Ironcat mumbled, rolling her eyes.

"Whatever."

"Do we at least have a name for her?"

"Ginny."

"Well, that's a seemingly normal name."

"Yeah, well, she thinks I'm someone called Mad-Eye Moody, and that it's all a big conspiracy since _I'm_ supposed to be dead too."

"Where do they all come from, Fury?"

Fury shook his head. "They can't all come wrapped up in a basket and arrive on my front stoop."

"Are you saying if someone delivered Starke in a basket to your front stoop you'd be less likely to want to punch him in the face?"

"No, I'd _still_ want to punch him."

"Psh, at least people know who Iron Man is. No one shows any love for poor, little Ironcat," she pouted.

"You're an assassin," Fury said, shifting his eyes over.

"Details."

A young man burst into the room. "Sir! She's _**gone!**_ "

Fury stood up. "What? How?"

"We don't know sir. It's like she just disappeared somehow. The cameras blank out and then she's, well, not there anymore!"

"Get me red team and tell them to tear this place apart until they _**FIND**_ her!"

"Yes, sir!" the man said, disappearing.

Thud.

Fury turned to see Ironcat sprawled out on the floor, unconscious.

"What the F—"

"So sorry," a liquid voice said directly in his ear. " _Obliviate."_

Nick Fury crumpled to the floor.

* * *

"It was so good to see you guys again" Kingsley said warmly. Then he sighed. "The Unspeakables have successfully extracted Ginevra from some Muggle para-military holding facility and she's been placed under guard in Mungo's for now. I'm not exactly sure what she saw when she got a look at you folks, but I think it probably broke her mind."

"Well, it _has_ been almost a decade now," Amelia said with a smile.

"It was my fault, Kings," Hermione said. "I wanted to show Loki my old haunts. I never expected— I never thought I might run into Ginny, of all people."

"No, Hermione, how could you have?" Kingsley said. "At least I know where that crazy portal goes off to now and why it shall remain in permanent lockdown. I'd say I'm sorry it put you lot in danger, but it doesn't seem like any of you are complaining on how it worked out."

Amelia, Harry, Hermione, Severus and the others all smiled smugly in return.

"Well, the Unspeakables will keep a lid on it, and at least I can rest easy that some very important people didn't just vaporise into thin air on my watch," Kingsley said. "How I'm going to explain why I have a large box of frozen seal sitting in my foyer to my wife, however—"

"It should last you quite some time," Hermione suggested.

Kingsley arched a brow. "So it would seem. I will be sure to deliver these letters to the families after we arrange for the stories to match up. I'm sure Xenophilius, at the very least, will be glad to know his daughter is okay."

"She would have come, but the resort is full up with guests," Hermione chuckled. "She did send some trinkets for her father so he'll know it's her."

Kingsley eyed the empty cage on his desk with considerable amusement. "Miniature Frost Crumple-Horned Snorkack?"

Hermione smiled. "So it would appear, if only to her."

Kingsley shrugged. "Okay."

Kingsley started as a "small" Tryggr curled up in his lap and wedged his head under his hand, clearly enjoying his much smaller and more portable size. Mini-Bjørn whined from the other side of Kingsley's chair, pouting.

Kingsley petted Tryggr cautiously. "How big are these guys, usually?"

"Big enough to predate on a Jötunn," Severus answered calmly.

"And how tall is that exactly?"

"About 35 foot on average."

Kingsley swallowed hard and made sure to rub Tryggr's ears very soothingly. "Well, I'll tell you what. I will send an owl to some of our old friends. I know Minerva would jump at the chance to see you all again. You can spend the week here with me and we can catch up on old times. I can even poke Mr Grumpy Malcontent and get him to join us for dinner tomorrow."

"That would excellent, Kingsley, thank you," Harry said with a smile. "I really wanted to show my kids Diagon Alley."

"You mean the Quidditch shop," Former Unspeakables Jefferies said.

"Well, yeah!" Harry said with a grin.

"So who is watching this gateway you guys were talking about?" Kingsley said.

"Håkon's father, Raynor, lives by the Bifröst terminal," Loki said with a tilt of his head. "Håkon and his mate, Gunnvor, hunt for him so he doesn't want for food, and his grandson, Rangvald, keeps him from getting bored."

"We wanted to alternate him out with others from the village, but Håkon's father likes the solitude in-between visits from family. He thrives out there on the floes," Unspeakable Carleton said. He was silent a moment. "Arthur and the twins thought it best not to tempt fate by visiting. Considering what happened when Ginevra saw Hermione and Harry walking into Gringott's— it was probably wise."

Kingsley nodded. "Not sure how she saw through the glamour spell," he said. "It's tight and strong from what I've seen of it."

Amelia frowned. "She _was_ touched by a fragment of Tom Riddle through the diary Horcrux as a child," she said grimly. "For all we know it gave her some remnant of his touch— his vision. There is no way of knowing what else might have stuck with her all this time, unseen by us all because it's far too insidious."

Harry shook his head. "I thought destroying the diary broke the connection?"

Severus shook his head. "Horcruxes shatter the mind and the soul, but for a moment, she was one with him and that kind of willing connection, even if innocently done, allowed a bit of that darkness to claim her. What you did kept more from happening immediately, but we don't have records of what it could do over time, as no records of such things were ever kept."

"Perhaps seeing two people such as you, Harry, and Hermione, people who are so heavily rooted in her past back then, caused her to have a crisis of the mind that had far less to do with actually seeing you and more to do with remembering something she'd hidden in herself for the last ten years." Kingsley rubbed his chin with his fingers. "But I am only guessing here. At least she is safe at Mungo's, and Molly knows where she is now. As for her ex-husband, maybe now he realises that she wasn't in her right mind when she served the papers, not that she's in any condition to take care of the kids."

Hermione's complexion took on a slightly blue cast, and Loki put his arm around her.

"What is is, my love?"

Hermione eyed Kingsley. "Have your healers carefully examine the children. You said she had three, yes? And two more on the way?"

Kingsley nodded. "What for, exactly?"

Severus, realising what Hermione was thinking, turned to Kingsley. "Dark Magic, latent. The echo."

"Does this mean I have that in me too?" Harry asked, fidgeting nervously.

"No, Harry," Hermione said. "I've healed you enough to know you've dodged that particular bullet. If anything because Tom Riddle's own hand killed his magic inside you."

Harry sighed with relief. "Thank Merlin for _that_. Never thought I'd be thankful for him being obsessed with destroying me himself."

Hermione pulled a small bag from one of her pouches, holding it out to Kingsley. "See that she gets a pinch of this in her tea, twice a day for a week. I doubt my showing up with do her any favours. This powder is used to leech magical poisons from the body. She'll probably hack up nasty stuff for a few weeks, but if she does— it's working."

"What is this, Hermione?" Kingsley asked.

"A gift from our Goddess," Hermione said serenely.

"No really," Kingsley said. "What do I tell the healers?"

"You may have to make something up this time, Kingsley," Amelia said. "Tell them it's something the DoM uses in the most extreme cases of dark magic exposure or infection, but information regarding the components involved is restricted and can never leave their department."

Kingsley sighed heavily. "They _hate_ when I give them compounds they can't identify, especially when they really do work."

Amelia grinned. "Welcome to my old world, Kings."

"If it works on Ginny, then all the children will need it," Hermione told him.

Kingsley tsked. "Very well. As bad as this sounds, I hope this stuff works so something can be done for her and her children."

Hermione chuckled. "Have a little faith," she said, her unfamiliar accent hanging thickly on every word.

"Hermione, you were hardly the religious type when last we spoke," Kingsley said.

Hermione's lips curved into a smile. "Let's just say I've had some very personal humbling experiences in the few years I've been alive."

Kingsley arched a brow, but left it at that. "Amelia, what do I put down as to the current status of Ronald Bilius Weasley?"

Amelia looked to Hermione, who looked to Loki, who looked to Severus.

Severus sighed, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. "He was transformed into a female frost seal on the very first day he arrived in Jötunheimr by the land's quite formidable magic. He is currently fornicating his way through life, bringing prosperity to our people through his, excuse me, _her_ many, many delicious children."

Kingsley slid down into his chair and hugged Tryggr like a stuffed toy, burying his face into the feline's soft, white fur. "Is that seal you brought me—"

"No, Kings, that was from one of the few that aren't."

"Oh, thank _Merlin_. Delicious or no, I don't want to explain to Molly at any time in the future that I ate one of her grand-seals."

Severus perked at that. "I would be glad to—"

Hermione slapped her hand over Severus' mouth, giving him a pointed look.

Severus seemed to pout using only his eyebrows.

Kingsley stood up and brushed himself off, realising his robes had a wide swath of frost-sabre fur across his lap. "I'll go take this to the healers, then. Make yourselves at home."

"Mrowl!" Tryggr said, trotting after the Minister for Magic.

"Brrrowww!" Bjørn protested, following too, both of them wanting to tag along on the next exciting adventure.

Kingsley gave Hermione a look.

Hermione just shrugged. "They like you. Just consider them very furry bodyguards that you pay in seal and fish."

"They aren't exactly intimidating at the moment," Kingsley said.

"Just wait until someone tries to hurt you," Hermione said with a sly grin.

Kingsley seemed to get an idea. "Mind if I take them to my board meeting?"

Hermione looked like she was going to say something, but Loki pulled her close to him and said, "By all means, Kingsley. You _do_ know the safe word, don't you?"

Kingsley pondered a moment. "No, I don't," he said, sweeping out the room with the two miniaturised beasts trailing after him.

Loki beamed at Hermione. "I _**LIKE**_ him!"

"Wait until you meet Minerva," Hermione said knowingly.

* * *

 _Many, many years in the future…_

"Sven, Kára, Róta, Hilda!" Sif called. "Stop trying to pick up Mjölnir and come sit down at the table."

"Yes, mother," the siblings muttered as they gave the hammer one last tug before dragging themselves off to the table and sitting with the other kids.

The hammer seemed to sigh with relief as a clutter of spiders moved him off to a secluded corner of the shelter, stealthily under the radar of the children.

Two young Jötunn worked between themselves to carry a large trussed up roast of some sort to the table. "Grandmother says you can't have a _real_ celebration without haggis and she went all the way out to the glaciers to get a 'proper sheep' to make it with."

Thor chuckled, clearing room and then lifting up the platter to deposit the large haggis onto the table. "Who can argue with that kind of dedication," he laughed. "Especially for a woman who built her own greenhouse for 'proper' herbs and vegetables."

"We saved you spots!" Hjortr and Brandr called to the twins. "Over here Sigrunn! Laufey!"

The twins rushed over to sit by their friends, taking their places at the table. They waved at a boy that was looking around for the right familiar faces. "Over here, Rangvald!" they called, and the son of Håkon and Gunnvor rushed up and sat down with them.

"Hey, leave room for Grandma Minerva!" Kenna said, and the other children moved over to make room.

King Laufey and Amelia ducked into the doorway and seated themselves. "I fear that Arthur's fishing expedition has not returned this evening, so we will have to save some of food for the stragglers," Laufey said.

"Awwww," the children complained. "Even the haggis?"

Amelia and Laufey exchanged amused glances. "Aye," they said, imitating a very distinctive accent.

"Ach, don't be worryin' about that," Minerva said as she ducked her way into the door, "I was sure to make extra for that crew. They can heat it up when they get back tomorra' or whenever."

The children bounced excitedly as Minerva sat between them, all of them giving her hugs as she did so.

"Minerva, wherever is your mate?" Laufey asked as they all seated.

"Egil is—"

A gruff-looking Jötunn with extra facial hair grunted as he came in with a long line of smoked fish. "Here I am. Just pulling the smoked fish off the smoke pits," he said with a smile. "Did I miss the arrival of the guest of honour?"

"Nay, they seem to be late."

"Well, it's been a month now, so they hardly haven't had time to seal the deal," Håkon said with a shake of his head, earning him a thump on the head from Magnus. "Hey!"

Magnus shook his head at Håkon. "I seem to recall you being barely able to crawl out of your sealskins for the first few months."

"That's hardly the same," Håkon sputtered. "Gunnvor denied me for _years_!"

"Only because I was waiting for you to be assertive!" Gunnvor said pointedly, elbowing him in the ribs.

The pair glared at each other.

"They keep threatening to make me a sister," Rangvald said to the other kids.

"Hey, what's wrong with a sister!?" the girls chimed together, causing the male children to fidget and avert their eyes.

"Now, boys," Magnus rumbled. "Do not dig your graves so deep that, when it comes time, no female will wish to be within a week's journey of your person."

The young boys flushed and settled in their seats, saying nothing.

"Besides, where would we be without our females?" Håkon said. "The Great Frost Mother is female too."

Rangvald hung his head.

"Can we eat yet?" Lang asked hungrily, eyeing the tasty food.

King Laufey thumped his son upside the head. "Not until our priestess gives the proper offerings to the Great Frost Mother. You did remember to give her a portion of your fish for the offering?"

Lang paled and slithered out the resort's main doors to hurriedly fetch a portion of his catch and take it to the priestess.

Arneot stared at his son. "Orvar."

The boy stared at his toes.

"Get moving before I sacrifice you to the Great Frost Mother for her patience."

Orvar bolted out the front door to do as his father bade him.

Harry eyed his sons, but they proudly looked victorious.

Severus leaned over to speak to his daughter. "Kenna, I take it your mission to remind Hjortr and Brandr not to embarrass themselves at tonight's dinner was successful?"

Kenna beamed. "Yes, father."

"That's my girl," Severus said with a sniff.

"Do you think the priestess will wait to give all of the offerings?"

King Laufey shook his head. "She will wait until the offerings are fair and appropriate."

"But— what if we don't have anything to give, and we're starving."

Håkon shook his head. "You know that the Great Frost Mother never asks for more than what we can give. Even our very first great hunt does not take everything."

"And we have not suffered from starvation since long before you, boy," Magnus said, eying his son with a suspicious look.

Gunnolf shifted his eyes guiltily and looked as though he'd been caught thinking something blasphemous.

"Don't be so hard on the boy, Magnus," Loki said as he stepped in the door. "He's probably convinced he's dying of starvation as we speak."

Magnus harrumphed, eyeing his son.

Gunnolf turned a deep shade of purple and tried to make himself blend into the seat.

"Any chance of dragging Hermione to the table before the children start eating it, Loki?" Harry asked, casting a look at his sons.

Loki raised an eyebrow. "She was on the way to the flows quite some time ago, but someone rushed up at the last minute to beg her not to go until they had fetched their offerings."

Arneot slapped his forehead with his hand. Luna leaned into his shoulder and patted him on the back. Their son rushed back into the gathering and skidded into the seat next to his friends, trying to look less guilty.

"I believe I found the guest of honour," Hermione said as she pulled open the door. "He was trying to offer himself to the Great Frost Mother."

"I was not!" Kingsley sputtered ducking into the doorway.

"It sure looked as though you were, my mate," a Jötunn woman said as she glided in. Her eyes were a rare dark rosewood colour that set her aside from other Jötunn. She carried herself elegantly, but there was a warmth in her bearing that was undeniably compassionate.

"Lene, my old friend," Magnus chuckled. "I was beginning to worry you would never leave your bed."

"Can I help it that I fould my mate quite enjoyable company, Magnus?"

"Oh, I'm sure he found you just as enjoyable, Lene," Håkon said with a wink.

Kingsley blushed deep purple. "Take pity on me, my friends, this is— new to me."

"Well it is your retirement celebration mixed with a healthy dose of welcome to the village," Magnus said. "You were far more accommodating and easier to teach than Arthur."

Kingsley looked around. "Arthur not hear yet?"

"He and his mate are taking a few of the others and their children out fishing on the flows for the next few days. As I understand it, Minerva has saved them food," Severus said with a weary sigh.

"Not everyone can just turn into a whale and scoop them up in their mouth, Severus," Håkon muttered.

"Jealous, Håkon?" Severus asked, arching a brow.

"Perhaps, a little," Håkon replied.

The sound of rumbling in the nearby sea marked the offering to the goddess had been taken. Hermione smiled. "My friends, our goddess has blessed us with so very much. Through remarkable twists of fate and even the selfishness of others, we have found our way to each other and back to the honouring of She-Who-Watches-Over-Us. She has never given up on us, and some of us found our way to her and to here in the most seemingly random course of events."

Hermione tilted her head and smiled. Bjørn and Tryggr smooshed her between their large heads, rumbling after they squeezed through the main door.

"Someone _really_ needs to expand that main door," Minerva commented. "Before the wall goes to pieces."

Hermione gestured for Kingsley and Lene to take their places at the head of the table. She winked to Minerva, her eyes sparkling. "Somehow, a goddess dismissed as false, guided her people to flourish in the harsh colds where other creatures would not. She guided her chosen people to meet with the mortals of Miðgarðr, and they did flourish together until the reigning gods believed that this gave her too much power, and they plotted against her, driving the Jötunn to an ever shrinking habitat."

Hermione smiled. "Yet, our goddess was not lacking guile and tenacity of her own. She crafted a new realm from the rubble cast aside from other gods— the parts of the great Ymir that no one else desired.. She bound it in ice and frigid cold, freezing seas, and placed the most dangerous of animals to roam the land and seas, making it inhospitable to all— all but the frost Jötunn. Here, in the north, the frost giants lived hard but quality lives where the weather was far too inhospitable for any but those accustomed to such cold. The other lands were given to the rock giants, where the forests are so dense that even seeing a giant between the trees is nigh but impossible. She brought the Jötunn home here—to Jötunheimr— so they would flourish again."

"So great was her reach that she saved a mortal girl being cursed by one of her best friends and dropped her on poor Håkon."

Håkon sputtered and pretended to ignore Hermione, but he was smiling.

"So far was her foresight that allowed one of her own people to be adopted into the family of the enemy only to bring him back and foster the very peace though impossible."

Hermione took Loki's hand and squeezed it.

"The Great Frost Mother asks only for what we can give, tests us only in what we can survive, and in return her bounty is more than great. Her protection remains strong. Her judgement is both righteous and just. She has never given up on us, even when our people were at their lowest."

"See what she has given us," Hermione said with a warm smile. "Friends, family, mates, children." She scooped up a handful of rainbow-coloured spiders and pressed her face into their clutter, accepting their cheers and leg hugs. She let them reestablish themselves in her hair. Meanwhile, those who have turned their back upon her— she who gave us life again— they cower in their city behind high walls, sheltered from the danger and the cold. Yet we— we are free. Free to make our home anywhere in the ice and snow as She intended us. This is her greatest blessing: each other and the freedom to live in the Realm she made for us. The ability to love those we love without fear that it will never work between us due to some unfortunate species barrier."

"While the next generation may never know the hunger we once did, and even more so the times long before me, we can rest in knowing that those that came before us would be proud to know what we have become. We honour them as we honour Her. And I know—"

Hermione closed her eyes, emotion making it way into every line of her face. "I know Sigrunn would be proud of us. She would love the world we have now, as she loved the world she had before."

"Now, in celebration of our latest friend, who is now our brother if not their mate— let us feast in honour of Kingsley and his mate, Lene, and speak of all those things he will get to look forward to when she starts craving the purple spotted octopus and the jellyfish of a thousand painful deaths." Hermione grinned as Kingsley paled. Lene wiggled her eyebrows at Kingsley.

"I look forward to taking you on your first great hunt, Kingsley," Magnus rumbled, enjoying Kingsley's obvious trepidation. "And here you thought retirement would be the end."

"I could have warned him," Severus smirked, "but what would have been the fun in that?"

"You've had enough fun tormenting those poor twins," Minerva ribbed.

"Torment? Hardly," Severus scoffed. "Simply reminding them that I do not have to be a god to see _them_ coming."

"I'm sure it wouldn't have anything to do with their antics at Hogwarts," Minerva said knowingly.

Severus gave her a perfectly neutral look.

Hermione laughed warmly, leaning into Loki with love in her eyes. Her fingers traced the line of his chin and pressed her forehead tenderly to his.

"Ewww, mummy and daddy are at it again," Laufey the younger complained.

Sigrunn, true to her namesake, thumped Laufey on the head. "Shut it, I want a sister."

Hermione chuckled and turned to the gathered. "My friends and family, let us eat and be thankful for what has been given to us however small or large, for there is no telling when that small thing—" Hermione held a small, extremely fluffy rainbow-coloured frost spider in her hand, "will move mountains for our sake, as the Great Frost Mother created this world for us."

The gathered all stomped their feet in applause.

"To family," Loki said, raising his mug as he sat down beside Hermione at the table. He shared a meaningful look with Thor while Sif tried to keep her spawn from diving into the food first. "May we never have to lose them again to realise what we have."

And as the celebration of life, family, and friends went long into the evening and even until morning, only to end up with the children snuggling into a pile with Bjørn and Tryggr. Far away, Odin sat on his golden throne in Ásgarðr, staring across the vastness of space as only his one eye could see. His lips curved into a tight but genuine smile.

"You may not appreciate this irony, father," Odin said to himself, "but you will be infamous amongst our people as you so wished— but not quite in the way you desired. Now, you are the very reason this peace shall be forevermore, and pregnant females shall crave the succulent flesh of your many, many delicious children, just as the goddess intended."

"Sire?" the guard interrupted. He carried a very large basket of sea urchins. "Where would you like this… offering?"

Odin smiled. "Give them to my darling wife, Frigga," he said. "She's been craving them something fierce."

* * *

(giant clutter of frost spiders tug a curtain away from an ice sculpture)

 **Fin.**

(spider waves)

"Goodnight!"

"Hope you enjoyed the story!"

"And the tea."

"Garruph!"

"And Bjørn!"

"Mrowl!"

"And Tryggr too!"

(Bjørn and Tryggr slurp the clutter of friendly spiders.)

"Eeeee!"

* * *

 **A/N:** And HEA was had by all— except for a few notable idiots that deserved what they got. So next time you are on a nature cruise and you happen to see a really large pair of seals making hay on the shore, check to see if it has the mark of the Great Frost Mother. You never know— who's been really, really naughty.


End file.
